


The Price of Empathy

by Arc03verdigris



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arc03verdigris/pseuds/Arc03verdigris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandman and Pitch Black must forge a dubious reconciliation when they discover their battle has had an unforeseen and grave consequence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer's herald

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place several months after the end of the RotG movie...It uses canonical elements from the film and the books, unabashedly mixes them together, and contains spoilers for both. It is also very silly and has mild elements of mpreg (as paratization), slash, fluff, and lots and lots of ridiculous headcanon. My first fanfic so if you have comments or critique please do let me know!
> 
> ALL THANKS GO TO PHAELSAFE! She set up my account, showed me how to work this thing and urged me to post this story!!! GO GIVE HER LOVING, cuz she is deserves ^_^

Chapter 1: Summer's herald

Summer had come early. Cicadas rattling in the afternoon heat and the distant shouts of happy children splashing in the community pool were its herald. Just two months after an unusually frigid Good Friday, the people of Burgess were already in shorts and flip-flops. However, perched high up on a telephone pole was a boy in a hooded sweatshirt. His face and hands were blue with cold and his eyelashes glazed with frost. For him, summer meant only another long stretch until winter, _his_ season, could come out to play again... but that didn’t mean he had to stay away _completely._

The boy stared heavenward and hopped off the telephone pole into the air. 

Jack smiled. He was feeling pretty good despite the stifling heat. In the weeks since his extraordinary journey from Jack Frost the Miscreant to Jack the Guardian, things had changed surprisingly little, but that little was for the better. Whereas once he had gone unheeded by the people around him, now children would look skyward and stare, slack-jawed and awestruck before he’d disappear with a wink and the nip of a chilly breeze. He now felt fiercely protective of the pairs of little eyes that saw him below, and as he made his rounds from city to city he was ever vigilant for the slightest shadow or wisp of darkened sand. 

But so far, so good. There had been no sign of Pitch, or any of the terrors who followed in the nightmare king’s wake. Jack crossed his arms behind his head and drifted on his back for a moment, staring up at the clouds as they turned colors in the waning afternoon light. He closed his eyes and let the wind carry him, just happy to be alive. When he opened them, he was nose to beak with a familiar tiny face. It startled him so much that he yelped in surprise and fell out of the sky, catching himself only just before he dented in the roof of a passing car. 

“BabyTooth... seriously when are you gonna stop doing that?!” he chided. 

The tiny jeweled sprite flicked and flitted, her feathers resplendent in the light. She nuzzled into his cheek affectionately, peeping all the while. Jack rolled his eyes but kept his good natured smile, finding it hard to rebuke her gushing display — Tooth would be mad if she found out he was ‘encouraging’ her fairies, which meant, of course, he was more likely to let it slide. 

He came to a stop atop a high signal tower, and sat on the hook of his staff, cross-legged. He held out a finger for the tiny fairy. BabyTooth alighted upon it, panting, glad for the relief of Jack’s chilly body. “You’re out kind of early, aren’t you? Summer, daylight savings time and all that. Those kids’ heads won’t be hitting the pillows for hours yet....” 

BabyTooth chirruped and fanned her tiny wings, reaching into the downy feathers at her chest and pulling out a rolled up parchment, barely the size of Jack’s pinky nail. She held it out to him expectantly, her little eyes sparkling. Jack took the tiny paper gingerly, careful not to crush it. To his surprise, as soon as he touched it, it grew to four times its normal size and sprung open on it’s own. Whatever magic that helped these tiny fairies transport dozens and dozens of teeth and quarters every night seemed to come in pretty handy. BabyTooth settled on his shoulder and enjoyed the chill radiating off his body while Jack read. 

> Jack!  
>  Here’s hoping my fairy finds you well! You better not be encouraging her! YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.  
>  I know it’s been awhile since you’ve heard from me, or anyone else for that matter, and by now I’m sure you’ve discovered that the life of a guardian can be lonely and busy. It’s not always like that! Sometimes we forget how long we’ve done this, and how strange and new it must be for you. That’s why I want to cordially invite you to a party in the warren; we want you to be our very first guest of honor. Bunny’s promised to cook, and North says he’s been working on a surprise, and if you know North, you know that means something big.  
>  I have a favor to ask you: please poke ‘His Nocturnal Magnificence’ on your way, as he’s been very hard to track lately. You’d think we’d cross paths, but I guess he’s working harder than usual.  
>  Incisors and cuspids!  
>  -Toothiana 

Jack laughed at Tooth’s sweetly familiar tone and weird little terms of endearment at the end. _I guess this is what it feels like to be a part of something, to be important to someone._

He reread the note a second time then hopped up, balancing on his toes at the tip of the staff. “Well Baby, I better not keep them waiting. Guest of honor, after all! And it seems I’ve got a sandman to wrangle.” He grinned and tickled the tiny fairy under the chin, then dropped out of the sky on a zephyr, leaving BabyTooth to swoon in his chilly wake. 

\------ 

Jack felt a tingle of excitement. Since the battle with Pitch, he had found himself in the other Guardian’s realms once or twice, but Sandy’s ship was still uncharted territory. In theory, he knew where to go — high above the surface, just at the point where the sky darkened to permanent twilight, where the clouds rolled like waves and the echoes of the world below became a lullaby. You couldn't find it by traveling in one of the cardinal directions, or to any fixed point in the sky. The Sandman's domain was always just where it needed to be. 

As Jack ascended he scanned the horizon, squinting into the falling darkness. Then, bright as a burnished star, the ship drifted lazily into view, it’s scalloped surface shifting and molding like dunes on a windswept beach. It was a breathtaking sight, like a strange golden whale swimming in a lonely cloudy sea. Just looking at it made Jack feel a dozy peacefulness, a desire to set down his staff and see if one of these clouds would make a comfy pillow for a nap, just for a few seconds — but first... his job. Shaking his head to clear it, he blinked a few times and approached the ship, landing on it’s deck with a puff of powdery sand. 

The deck was empty, as he expected it would be. Tooth, Bunny and North had their attending sprites and elves, but Sandy (much like Jack himself) worked alone; the only companionship he had was the light of the stars and the smiling face of the moon above. From somewhere in the ship music was playing, music that Jack recognized as being from a long, long time ago — a warm crackly sound that would only come from old vinyl. The sandman had been a guardian for a long time; he must have learned a thing or two about popular music, even developed some favorites. 

“Sandy?” Jack called tentatively. There was no response. 

Summoning the wind, Jack somersaulted over the bow until he was level with one of the many portholes on the ship’s flank. He slipped through it easily into a hallway lined with doorways, some open. He peered into the sleep darkened rooms where little yellow nightlights flickered and glowed like stars. It was a little unsettling, but he supposed that perhaps this was how Sandy had wanted his realm — secretive, silent... Just like himself. 

He marveled at the ship’s intricate design as he searched. He had only heard fragments of the stories of the Golden Age, and then only in tiny snippets from his fellow Guardians, but he was beginning to understand why they spoke of the Golden Age so fondly. All around him the ship was decorated in rich tapestries and glowing paintings depicting men and women and creatures that defied description. They all had a polished, regal look to them, and their clothes were strewn with jewels and precious metals. They were walking in unfamiliar landscapes of ringed planets and shooting stars, holding brass instruments like telescopes and compasses. Despite their splendor, something about their eyes made him very sad — a dullness in them, or the reflections of places and people who would never exist again. He reminded himself to ask Sandy about these someday, when he had enough time and patience to decipher the little sandman’s peculiar way of communication. 

Jack continued down the hall to a large open room and peeked around a sand pillar, the surface of the imposing structure crumbling away in his hand as he rested his palm on it. He furrowed his brow and looked up to the ceiling, uncomprehending of what he saw. As the sand moved and swirled in perpetual motion, cracks would spring into view in the golden surfaces of the ship around him, patches of grey blooming like stains here and there, only to be consumed as the sands shifted. 

Venturing to the front of the ship brought him to the navigation room, where he hoped his little friend, and answers, could be found. The navigation room had once been the cockpit of Sandy’s starship before it had been transformed by it’s plunge into the ocean. It was made of sand like the rest of the ship, and the grains glittered and shifted as if the walls were fluid. There was an amazing collection of objects, storybooks in all languages, pearly mouthed seashells,wind up toys, tubes of watercolors, things that the sandman had gathered as inspiration for the dreams he would send children as they slept. In the far wall were recessed shelves which held thick leather-bound books of star charts and maps of universes that no one would ever see, lost with the memory of the Golden Age. A large astrolabe hulked in a corner, glittering with gold dust and spinning slowly. 

Jack passed by an ancient phonograph which was the source of the music, it’s big brass ear lovingly polished. Despite the clutter and eclectica, the room was quite spacious and fresh with a wide window in front boasting a spectacular view of the purple evening sky, heaped high with orange clouds. In the breaks between the plump cumulonimbus, he could see the city lights far down below. 

Touching down lightly, he chuckled as he sunk knee deep in embroidered goose down pillows, each as big as his he was and three times as wide. Soft blankets were strewn across the cushy floor to complete the unequivocally cozy feel. A muffled sound drew his attention to his feet, and he reached down to pick up a stray wrapper: black tea; another crunched under his heel: chamomile — Sandy’s drinks of choice for when he either needed to spring into action or pass out after a hard night’s work. The wrappers littered the cushions, earmarking Sandy as a great guardian but a lousy housekeeper. 

He waded through the pillow sea towards the cockpit at the front of the room, a wide circular structure that looked a little like a papasan chair but with a panel of levers and pulleys in front — controls for the sandship that only Sandman could decipher. A pair of black velvet slippers had been haphazardly tossed to the side next to a cushy plush dragon. Jack snickered into his hand, internally cooing at the thought of the first guardian curling up in his chair all warm and cozy with a cup of tea and his dragon buddy after a long hard day of kicking the shit out of the enemies of sleep and dreams. 

He could now hear deep heavy breathing, the light buzz of a snore — the only sound he’d ever heard Sandy make. He cleared his throat softly, hoping to see the round pale face of his fellow guardian peek over the back of the chair, eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep, but no response came. 

‘Must be napping up a storm,’ he thought. Well, no use letting a perfect opportunity slip by. He hopped onto the back of the chair and blew across his fingertips until they were white with frost. Bending down, he wiggled them in anticipation. He pounced like a cat, poking his icy fingers into the back of Sandy’s neck playfully. 

Sandy reacted as if electrocuted. The two tumbled to the floor, a roly poly bundle and a lanky tangle of limbs. Jack was already laughing as he tried to extricate himself from the startled sandman, brushing away grains of sand from his hands and face. 

“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist.... You were out like disco, Sand.” He snickered, sobering up somewhat and turning to help his friend to his feet. He stopped short, one hand outstretched. 

Sandy was still splayed on the floor, dazed. His breathing was labored, and his face cast with a grayish pallor. He stared up at Jack, brow knitted into a pained knot. Jack bent down to Sandy’s side and propped him up. Klaxons sounded in Jack’s head. There was no way that this ashen, trembling creature was the ruddy faced juggernaut who had nearly wiped out an army of nightmares. Scrambling for something to say, some sort of comfort, he opted instead for whatever came out of his mouth first. “Whoa, you look awful.” Smooth, Jack. 

The little guardian leaned heavily on Jack’s arm, shivering as the boy's cold leached up into his bones. He felt a mixture of emotions: joy at seeing his new brother in arms, irritation at having been Frosted, and then worry. His eyes flicked past Jack to the sky below — it was almost night. He hadn’t even remembered falling asleep after the previous evening’s work. Touching his temple lightly, he focused on mustering up the vein of sand which served as his only way to communicate. 

Above his head, a progression of pictures danced in rapid succession; a figure of a sandman sending dreams out to a child in slumber, the figure suddenly doubling over in pain. The action repeated over and over as a moon waxed and waned above, to signify the passage of time. The sandman figure staggered and stumbled, holding it’s tiny head and curling up tightly as if disoriented and hurting. Sandy’s eyes fell out of focus and the sand picture lost it’s structure and broke apart, the trickling grains dusting his hanging head and slumped shoulders. 

Jack had seen all he needed. “I’d love to say that I got all of that but... no. And you need more help than I know how to give. Come on, we’re going to the warren. Everyone is there for a party. They’ll know what to do.” 

Sandy shook his head in protest and pushed away, but Jack took no heed, lacing his arms around Sandy’s waist. 

“Cut it out, ok? We’re going whether you like it or not.... I’m not about to leave you alone here.” Jack braced his back, but as substantial as he looked, Sandy was light in his arms. The sandman struggled a bit, but finally relented and hung limply, like an oversized housecat. 

Readjusting his passenger, Jack bounded to the front of the cockpit and out the window, freefalling for a moment before the wind caught him, rocketing him skyward and jetting through a cloudbank. He let out an excited whoop, then stifled it as he noticed how desperately Sandy clung to him, face buried in Jack’s hoodie. It stung him; he’d always known the little imp to be a thrillseeker of the first degree, a connoisseur of loop-de-loops. 

“Ah, sorry there.... I guess I forgot you usually travel by cloud, but... come on it’s not that different, is it?” He cracked a wide grin, but Sandy’s pained and distant expression snuffed it out like a candle. Jack sighed and leveled out, gliding steadily. 

“Don’t worry, Sandy. We’ll get you back on your feet in no time” Jack wanted to show his determination and confidence, but inside doubt nibbled at him greedily. 

\------ 

Back at the warren, Bunnymund hauled a steaming cauldron to a rough hewn wooden table. All around him was the sound of spring peepers and the buzz of insects. Dazzles of light reflected from drops of dew sprinkling the bluebells and lilies that lined the dirt paths. 

He heaved the cauldron up with a grunt of exertion as it easily weighed as much as one of the fearsome stone sentinels that trundled around balancing bowls and plates and cutlery. He straightened up and eyed the cauldron intently. The contents smelled strongly of the delicious spices and herbs of a fragrant curry. He flourished a wooden spoon he’d tucked behind one ear and tasted it delicately, one eye closed in concentration. His nose twitched, his mouth puckered, and finally he beat a cheerful tattoo with his left foot. “That’s gorgeous. Never tasted finer. Well, with a little salt anyway.” 

Stealing in like a phantom, a huge hulking shadow dashed behind a rock formation and crouched in waiting. Bunny stiffened for a moment, then turned back to his dish and reached for a small salt cellar to season the curry, re-holstering his tasting spoon. 

In that split second, Nicholas St. North stealth-rolled past, jumped to his feet lightly and nabbed the wooden spoon out from behind Bunny’s ear. He laughed triumphantly as he peeked into the pot, blue eyes wide with anticipation. North’s face fell as he ladled up a tender purple carrot from the curry and harrumphed in anger. 

“ _Another_ vegetable dish?!" he wailed in anguish. "Bunny, what is party without buffalo baby back ribs, or whole roast ox?! I could have brought stuffed caribou, walrus wellington, whale tartar... _anything_ but more vegetables!” He roared, crossing his muscular arms in front of him like a petulant teen. 

Bunny twitched his nose and leaned against the mammoth cauldron, slapping a hand to his forehead. 

“For the _last time,_ there is NO. FLESH. EATEN. IN. THE. WARREN! Just relax and put your carnivore instincts in check.... ‘Sides, who says you won’t like this? When I cook mate, I _cook._ We’ve got a crispy parsnip and peppercorn frittata, some nice kale and coriander stew, potato and rutabaga tenderloin, three kinds of pies — just to name a few. Now, doesn't that sound fantastic? Believe me, mate, you’re gonna come out of this a believer.” He flashed his dazzling grin, swiped back his tasting spoon and dove into the fray of the cooking burrow where he was overseeing six giant egg statues and countless little egg minions as they carried out his orders to mince, dice, fry and fricassee. 

North sighed, his wide shoulders slouching comically. “ _Some party._ Well, at least entertainment will be good, right boys?” He gestured to his attending yetis who sat in the green moss under a stone arch, one laying face down letting a fair-sized company of eggs march across his back, the other reclining in a hammock and reading a magazine called _Rabbit Fancy_ while sipping at a strange looking green drink garnished with a stalk of celery. Neither paid him any mind. 

North rumbled and sat on a rock, lighting up his pipe and shaking his head. 

Tooth giggled from a nearby branch and dropped down next to him, nudging him with her shoulder. 

“Cheer up, North! This is going to be a lovely night. How often do you get to show off when it’s not Christmas, hmm?” 

North’s eyes lit up at the mention of his holiday. “Well, never. Unless it’s one of those ridiculous ‘Christmas in July’ parties... but those — well, I guess they are ok.” The elder guardian broke out into his infectious grin; he was physically incapable of staying cross for long, and the excitement of their welcoming party had left the curry disappointment only a bad vegetarian memory. 

Tooth did a little somersault. “Well I know I can hardly stand the excitement. I really want Jack to feel at home, you know? He’s finally going to have a proper family again — he needs that.” 

North smiled, stroking his snow white beard. “You’re right, of course, but try not to be too upset if it...doesn’t go how you want it to. He needs good, strong friends, too, but he still remembers losing his family. It never gets easy, just sort of farther away" 

Tooth's wings whirred. She settled down next to him again and folded her hands in her lap. "I suppose it's the price of empathy, North. No one ever really forgets, not completely.... We can make him feel like he's something really special to us. There's no harm in that. I know we're never going to replace them.” Her dark lashes lowered, sending spangles of magenta and purple across her cheek. 

North winced, opening his mouth to try and salvage the conversation, but before he could apologize, a low howl echoed out of one of the major tunnels. Eggs scattered in fear, running and hiding behind the sentinels, who in turn put on their fierce protector faces and braced for attack. North and Tooth leapt to their feet, drawing their swords. 

The howling rose up again, louder this time, and a rumbling could be felt beneath their feet. They called to Bunny and charged to face the unseen horror barreling into the warren, ready to lay down life and limb. 

Suddenly, the howling stopped short, and a cold blast of air roared out of the tunnel. 

" _Tchaikovsky's short hairs!!!!_ " 

North barely had time to drop his swords when he was hammered full force in the chest by a speeding boy and an airborne pastry. The three were knocked backwards, uprooting lilies and patches of moss. 

"Jack!" Tooth shouted, zipping over to collapse in the heap, arms thrown around the guardian bundle, her laughter tinkling like wind chimes. 

Bunny emerged from the cooking burrow with a soufflé wobbling in his hands, ready to use it as a weapon until he saw the grisly crash scene. He smirked and crossed his paws over his broad chest. “Like it? It’s a wind breaker, Jack-o. Specially made to keep out the wind on those days when it works up to be a real howler. I guess I should have turned it off... Sorry, mate!...” 

Jack spat out bits of gravel and grass as he scrambled on his hands and knees to Sandy. “Real nice, you ass! I don’t care about you pranking me but _he_ needs help!” 

For the second time that day Sandy found himself crumpled in a heap on the floor, but this time he was upside down. His head was spinning wildly from the cold, crazy trip and his stomach lurched, threatening to give up and abandon him at any moment. He barely registered the beautiful light playing across the mossy floor or his concerned friends rushing to his side before he felt those cold, cold hands lift him up again. “I found him like this at the ship.” Jack hefted him up, trying to keep from letting too much of the diminutive sleep-bringer slip out of his arms. “Even the ship itself was looking wrong — there were cracks in it and places where the gold seemed tarnished, kind of grey-" 

Tooth gasped, taking the sandman’s pale hand in her own. “Oh gods...he’s freezing!” 

Jack grimaced and shuffled lamely “Well that’s my fault actually.... I had to carry him the whole way here.” 

Bunny stared at the two of them hard, as if studying them. His velvety pink nose quivered as his whiskers danced. 

“No kidding, Jacksicle. Bring him here. Set him on the hammock.” Bunny shooed the relaxing yetis and shook out a soft brown cloak he had hanging on a tree branch nearby. 

Jack shrugged sheepishly and complied.“Sorry, bro,” he whispered, smiling down at Sandy. 

Sandy shook his head and patted Jack’s shoulder, all forgiven — or it would be as soon as his head stopped pounding. 

Bunny draped the cloak around Sandy’s shoulders and sat down in the soft moss in front of him, handing him a wooden cup of tea. Sandy took it gratefully, only then acknowledging the burning dryness in his throat that had nearly driven him mad. After the first warm, soothing sip he could have melted in Bunny’s arms. He drained it eagerly and held out the mug for seconds. 

North pushed past Bunny, full of a stern, gentle concern. 

“Sandy! You look awful. What happened? Where have you been? Weeks since we drove off... that thing, and not even single peep from you.” 

Tooth nodded in agreement, looking deep into Sandy’s eyes with her own amethyst gaze. “We’re just worried. We lost you once....” 

Sandy did not look up from his tea, head hanging guiltily. Slowly, he conjured up images of gears and wheels, then of himself feverishly sending dreams to hundreds and hundreds of children who were sleeping fitfully, still plagued by nightmares. One by one, they would calm and relax, the dreams working their magic. 

He’d been very busy, yes. Busy trying to undo the damage that Pitch had done. After he'd been freed from the Nightmare King's grip and he and the guardians had enjoyed a very brief victory, he'd been left with a disaster zone. He’d felt it all around him as soon as night fell, the sheer panic of the children forced to endure the parade of monsters and horrors that had been created just to breed their fear. 

They had become so afraid to sleep that they fought their exhaustion so that they wouldn't have to face that darkness alone, and it was heartbreaking to see the concern of their caregivers when they could do nothing to allay that dread. For the first time in his long life, he felt the sickening feeling of abandonment; children who'd lost faith that they could even close their eyes again without being thrown into a maelstrom — _because he was not strong enough, had not fought hard enough for them._

Staring down at the ruined dreamscapes paralyzed him with grief. 

That evening he’d spent a long night curled up in the cockpit of his ship, bleary eyed and sleepless, gripped with insomnia for the first time in his long life. Hour after hour trickled by as he watched the sun set and the moon rise, like a calm white pool in a field of fireflies. The beauty held no comfort, but the light — that overwhelming radiance — reminded him of a wish he’d granted, long ago... 

_I wish you’d help..._

It was only then that he’d managed to sit up and unbury himself from the despair. He took it and compressed it in his internal furnace, using the intense pressure of a million little sleepy dreamers and the gentle entreaty from his dear friend, his first friend. He took what was left, a hard dark diamond, and kept it locked in his heart for when he needed reminding; when he needed a spark of light to reflect his purpose. 

He'd then poured every ounce of his strength into his dreamspinning. He worked at a pace that would have put the others to shame had they seen him, as he blurred through fairy tales and caught whispered desires for new dream fodder, sleeping only to amass a dragon’s hoard of golden dust. By the time night had fallen in the western hemisphere he was practically bursting with dreams, full of new narratives for his flock. 

It was both ecstasy and terror to feel the tiny flickers of belief as bit by bit, fear loosened it's claws from the children. This frantic activity left no time for anything else, which was just as well for the little sandman. He had not responded to the other’s requests, had deliberately kept out of their radar. He knew that the others guardians cared very deeply for him, that indeed their goal was all the same — to protect innocence — but the truth was that he simply could not face them and blamed himself for their awful ordeal. 

So he’d simply worked. Worked and felt a renewed sense of purpose, the exhilarating sensation of plunging completely into one’s craft and calling without coming up for air. 

That was until things had started to unravel, and he’d began to notice himself faltering in ways he had never experienced before: pain, a hot searing ache in his back and neck; the inability to hold down even a small morsel of food at times; and worst of all, an overwhelming exhaustion that would flatten him mercilessly and leave him useless for hours. 

A sharp jab in the chest brought him back to reality, with Bunny crowding over him. “Jack says you told him you were doing poorly. Explain it to me.” 

Swallowing hard, Sandy related as much of his suffering as he could through gestures, sandspeak, and pantomime. Bunny said very little besides grunting occasionally in agreement, but finally he turned to a gaggle of eggs which had gathered behind him. “Oi. You go gather me some mallowwort, bloodthistle, sourbane, and sugarmoss. I need my mortar and pestle too.” 

Bunny took his chin in his hand and shook his head till his ears flapped. “Mate, I only know what I’ve learned through a life of living in the season of spring, but I’ll do what I can. You just have to let me have a look over you, ok?” 

Sandy’s confusion only grew. This implication of some medical explanation made no sense. As long as he’d lived he’d been pretty sure that he’d never once needed anything so much as a tissue for a runny nose. Rest and belief — that was the ‘medicine’ of the guardians. 

He fervently shook his head, spilling a little tea on himself as he did. 

Tooth’s tone was pleading. “Sandy, please.... We don’t know what else to do. What if this is something different? What if it’s something that could affect all of us?” 

Sandy’s jaw worked, and he closed his eyes. He nodded ever so slightly. _Fine. If at least it will make them leave me alone...._

Bunny coughed and rubbed his paws together. “Sorry mate, they may be a bit cold” he mumbled apologetically. 

Sandy’s eyes shot open and he frowned. He may not have been much to look at, but he had his pride. He hoisted an eyebrow and gestured to North, Tooth and Jack. He made a little circling gesture with a finger. _A little privacy, doctor?!_

The group shuffled lamely, no one quite sure just what they should be doing to disarm the acute embarrassment of the situation. 

Sandy caught an almost imperceptible blush under the rabbit’s thick fur. “Oh, uh... come on, we’ll use Big Burrow. I promise it’ll be really quick.” He held out a paw to help Sandy off of the hammock, and the two disappeared into a cleanly swept burrow lined with calla lilies. 

As they left, Tooth and North whispered together, but Jack could hear snatches of the conversation clearly... _‘...Too much strain...not strong enough...nightmares...Pitch....’_

Jack didn’t think that was very fair, but he kept his mouth shut. 

They were scared. Bunny had some cursory curative knowledge, and Tooth and North could only offer their own experiences with their own guardianhood, and none of that helped to shed any light on the situation. If Sandy had the belief of the innocents, how could he be falling ill? Jack kicked at a spare tomato that had fallen from the table and waited as patiently as he could. 

Agonizing moments later, they returned. Sandy was readjusting his robes and seemed flustered but no worse for wear. Bunny’s expression was entirely unreadable. He guided Sandy back to the hammock and helped him up, bundling him up and giving him more tea. Despite the intrusion into his privacy he’d just endured, Bunny’s hospitality was still welcome to him. 

"So what's wrong with him?" Jack demanded, hovering above them, concern in his voice. 

Bunny sighed. He had suspected it moments after Sandy and Jack had tumbled into his warren, and mostly he had been stalling and trying to prove himself wrong. In the burrow he’d timed the beat of the little guardian’s heart, listened to his breathing and watched his eyes dilate as he’d shined a crystal’s light into them. None of it disproved his hypothesis. It made no sense, but he had no choice but to report his findings. He looked at the circle of worried faces and Sandman's meek and drained state and steeled himself. "It's simple. Very simple, really. But it's also complicated" 

They didn't respond, only continued to stare. 

"He's... well- he's in a delicate condition" 

"Oh, no! He _is_ sick!? This has never happened before!” 

“Have people stopped believing!?" 

"Is it contagious?" 

Bunny’s shoulders fell. "No, no, It's nothing like that.... He's, uh, well... you know, in... _that_ way." 

"What way?" 

"He's not in the way, Bunnymund. Please be serious here, he’s our friend!" 

"Argh! He's, uh, a little...." Here, Bunny turned himself in profile and moved his arms down and over his stomach in a sweeping gesture, pantomiming a large protruding belly. 

"...a little on the chunky side? Pah! We knew that!" 

"North! That's awful!" 

"Yeah you're one to talk, old man." 

"What?! Is true! Besides, I am strong Cossack stock! I can arm wrestle polar bear!" 

Bunny stamped angrily and shouted, "NO, DAMN IT!!! He's... you know! Expecting-" 

“-the worst?!” 

Tooth rolled her eyes and scoffed, “You _sound_ like you’re trying to say he’s pregnant...." 

Bunny’s mouth clopped shut and he stared at her. He winced and raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. “Bingo.” 

A beat settled on the gathered group. 

All eyes had turned to the Sandman. He was mid sip and nearly choked. Sandy shook his head, the image of a thumbs-down materializing over his head. 

Suddenly, North guffawed loudly, the tension just too much. “Ok, that is strange joke... not so funny. Weird, yes, but not so funny.” North pulled Jack into the tense huddle and slapped him on the back heartily. Jack winced and countered, “Yeah, Bunny. I don’t know if you have had that ‘birds and bees’ talk, but uh... last I checked you needed the... lady parts for that particular job....” 

Tooth’s feathers fluffed up. “Excuse me?!” She eyed them both into submission. 

Bunny waited until their laughter ebbed into an uncomfortable cough. “I’m dead serious, mate-” he tapped his nose “-sensitive equipment. I can tell, trust me. I’ve always had a knack for that. Besides, Spring is my season. New beginnings. New life... I felt it the second I saw you.” He stooped down until he was eye level with Sandy, and narrowed his green eyes. 

Sandy stared right back, little fists balled up at his sides. Normally, Bunny’s posturing and ranting almost amused him, but this was not a game to him. Whatever this allegation was, it was serious. 

Bunny dropped his voice and continued to stare. “I’m right, mate. Think about it. The fatigue, the dizziness, nausea, exhaustion. And you’ve gotten bigger around the middle but you don’t know how because you’re not resting, not eating. But most of all, you can feel it, can’t you? Just a little flutter every now and then, you could mistake it for your heart. Nothing big, not yet, but soon, really soon....” 

Bunny’s tone turned stony, his voice dropped to a whisper. “But that’s not the right question is it? The right question is what the hell is it?” 

The cup Sandy was drinking from clattered to the ground, and all the color drained from his face. His little hands clutched his belly. 

North goggled at him, mouth open. “Bunny you can’t be serious?! Do you know what this means?!” 

“That Sandy is carrying some... _thing_ inside of him? Something possibly dangerous? Something we as guardians have never encountered? Yeah, I do.” 

North waved him off. 

“No!!! it means that we are going to be uncles, hahaha!” He patted Sandy on the head and took his little round face in his hands, squishing his cheeks. “Sandy, if you have boy, you name him Nicholas Junior, ok?!” 

Sandy swatted his hands away, sending him a vicious vision of a very rude gesture indeed, which of course only caused North to laugh harder. 

Jack backed away with his arms up as if he was afraid of contagion. “No, wait, this is too weird. I mean surely those exact 'symptoms' could be anything?! Hell, it could be the flu, pneumonia, _any_ of those options make more sense than _a baby...._ ” 

Sandy threw his arms up, nodding vigorously. _Finally! Some sense!_

Tooth shrugged, still shaken by the news herself. “The truth is, there is a lot we don’t understand Jack. Who’s to say a Guardian doesn’t have the power to, well, procreate? For all we know, _you_ could carry a baby yourself,” she teased. 

Jack jumped away and wrinkled his nose in distaste. “No thanks, Tooth. I sure don’t feel very ‘motherly’, alright? Let’s leave that to the professionals. And Sandy, apparently....” 

Bunny interrupted, angrily, “You all keep saying ‘baby.’ We don’t know _what_ it is!” 

“Of _course_ is baby! Adorable little strapping baby boy, named Nicholas Junior! I’ll teach him how to fight two-handed with scimitars!” 

Tooth sat next to Sandy and took his arm in her own. “Well, only one person would know that, guys-” he could tell she was trying very hard to be supportive “-so who’s the lucky lady, Sandy? Oops... or fella — that’s ok too, you know!” 

Sandy felt as though he’d been punched in the mouth. 

He wasn’t a fool, he knew how humans worked. But he wasn’t one, had never been. He was an ancient star pilot from the Golden Age, hand chosen by the Tsar Lunar himself to carry out the grave and important job of keeping Pitch’s nightmare armies at bay while the children of the world slept — and here they were, insisting he was... knocked up!? He shook off Tooth’s embrace and shouted at them with as many visual versions of ‘no’ he could muster. _Not possible. Not happening. NO._

Yet even as he said it, somehow, he knew Bunny was right. The seed had been planted, figuratively and something _else_ had been planted literally. Still, it made absolutely no sense. After all, he hadn’t even been intimate with anyone. Ever! 

Once again it was Bunny who snapped him out of his thoughts. He had ground up a thick green paste with the ingredients the eggs had brought back and was steeping a tea with it. 

“You need to drink this.” He gruffly handed Sandy yet another cup full of steaming liquid. 

“I can’t be entirely sure, but it’s a pretty good guess that your condition is linked to your ability to control your dreamsand. The weaker and sicker you get, the harder it will be to control it. This should help your symptoms, give you a little strength and make it easier to keep something down.” 

“Ah! He’s right, Sandy. You need to start taking care of yourself, for Little Nick’s sake. I should bring you some shashlik — _real food_ , not this vegetable stuff!” 

Bunny raised a bushy eyebrow and snorted. "I can't believe you, North. This isn't a litter of puppies we're talking about. We need to take him to the lamadary." 

"Dromedary?" 

" _Lama_ dary, Jack." Tooth's tone was reverent. "The Lunar Lamas at the top of the world — they're our connection to the Man in the Moon. We only consult them under serious circumstances. If Sandy doesn't know how this happened, MiM will; he can warn us of any danger." 

" _If_ there is danger," North added, obviously for Bunny's benefit. 

Bunny seemed visibly relieved that they were finally acting like grown ups. "Thank gods. I thought I'd have to knock your skulls together so we could finally _do_ something instead of standing around here planning the baby shower." He turned from them and began to clear away dishes. "We can be out of here in two shakes, I just gotta make sure the cooking fires are out and the eggs know not to play in the soups while we're gone...." 

North put a hand on Bunny's shoulder, shaking his head. "Relax-" North hitched up his belt and clapped his thick hands "-tonight, we have a good time. Sandy can’t make that journey tonight, not when he’s this weak. Besides, we have so much to celebrate now... all of us." His grave tone was directed right at Bunny, and it seemed to quiet the retort that the giant rabbit had poised on his lips. 

North was right. Sandy wouldn’t make the cold journey over the Himalayas to the Lamadary. They’d have to wait until he was able at least to use his dreamcloud. Bunny sighed. “Fine. Well, we should eat at least. Soon.” He turned back to the eggs and ordered them to bring out the meal, a parade of tantalizing dishes that would have warranted a standing ovation had it not followed such a weird conversation. 

Sandy was not watching the spectacle. He couldn’t dislodge Bunny's paranoid question from his head. 'What?' 

He mused over a word he had been thinking over and over since he'd heard the 'momentous' news. He didn’t need to go to the lamas; he knew exactly what this thing inside of him had to be...A particularly strange word he had not found a reason to use yet. 

_Parasite._

He turned the word over in his head trying to visualize it in a way that made sense, a way he could show the others, but all he could conjure up was a pile of ugly squirming worms. In his rare free time he used to flip through dictionaries in all languages, pulling out strange and tantalizing words and attempting to mold perfect sand images for even the slipperiest phrases. He enjoyed it immensely and loved to challenge the other Guardians to long guessing games. 

The worms dissolved and morphed into a little image of himself, writhing in pain while a great toothed _something_ ate him alive from the inside out. 

He let the image fall away, his throat tightening uncomfortably. 

\------ 

The surprise turned out to be a fiasco and a half. Finally settling into a tense dinner, the guardians shared the meal with a sort of terse, overly polite pall hanging over them. Delicious as it was, North finally bellowed "Enough. Is time to play!” and threw his empty cup into one of the cooking fires, causing Bunny to fly into a rage and delaying the present opening still further. By this point, Sandy was finally feeling a little better and had perked up enough to be interested in something besides the doom they had apparently condemned him to. 

The present turned out to be a cricket set. Everyone seemed politely amused but unsure of how to respond — when you live in a world of walking Easter eggs and magical snowballs, cricket falls somewhat short of an amazing surprise. However, it wasn’t until Jack was begrudgingly ‘volunteered’ that the game’s true nature was discovered. As he bowled the ball towards the wicket, it sped along right into Tooth’s waiting bat - and exploded in a puff of pink dust. Tooth stood, dazed, her whole body now a bismuth colored mess — North’s ingenious little set actually exploded on contact at random intervals, either dousing the player with paint, or sweet smelling dust, or tiny tickling bubbles. By the end of the evening everyone was multicolored, a mess, and exhausted with laughter. 

All except Sandy. Each time he had wanted to join in, one of the others would find him something to drink or eat or fetch him another pillow or gently guide him back to the hammock. He ended the match full and comfy, but seething. 

_This is ridiculous. He almost as old as the Man in the Moon. He had seen the fall of the Golden Age. He fought with whips, for heaven’s sake! and they were treating him like a baby!_

No. Like he was expecting a baby. Entirely different thing. He watched them play and cavort, and part of him felt bitter, betrayed. 

Maybe this is what Pitch had felt like. 

...Where had _that_ come from? 

\------ 

The chirping of crickets awoke him several hours later. Sandy’s sleepy golden eyes blinked, and with panic he found he was stricken blind. A thick grey fog clouded his vision. A few terrified flails later, he realized he was only face down in Bunny’s soft fur. Spitting out a few stray strands he rubbed his face and peeled away from the rabbit’s protective embrace for some cool air. 

He sighed and stretched, wondering how on earth the past few hours had happened without his permission. All around him, his companions slept. Of course, not of their own volition. Upon closer inspection, they all had delicate traces of dream dust in their eyes, glittering in the light prettily. It was the only way he could think to escape without a barrage of questions. He bit his bottom lip and bobbed over to Jack, pulling his arm out from under him so that he wouldn’t wake to pins and needles and propping his head on a soft tuft of grass. He continued to rearrange them to more comfortable positions, as most of them were still holding cricket bats or half full mugs of now cooled cider or plates of Bunny’s delicious fare. 

_Bunny’s cooking!_

His gaze flicked to the table, still laden with the fruits of Bunny’s labors. Tiptoeing past a loudly snoring North, he snatched up a juicy fig tart and took a ravenous bite. Bunnymund was right; the concoction he had given him had stopped his shaking and woken up an appetite he had not known could be contained in one so small. Tooth had spent most of the evening delighting in doting on him and insisting he take seconds or thirds of everything. After some initial grumbling, he had given in and discovered that was exactly what his body had wanted. He didn't like to admit it, but he'd practically shed a tear of joy when Bunny had revealed a three tiered carrot cake. Amazingly enough, despite the shameful amount of dinner he'd murdered, he was feeling a little peckish. He tucked a few more tarts into his robe, not quite willing to make the journey unaccompanied. 

He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping guardians in the clearing. His heart sunk. After his initial hissy fit, he felt absolutely awful for ruining their party, for betraying them, for being so full of cowardice, for effectively spitting in their faces when they had only tried to help... again. 

After Bunny had mentioned the Lamadary, he was unable to shake a creeping dread. Going would bring more questions, more speculation... He knew he would have to the Lamas eventually, but first he had to be _sure._ It was his life they were arguing over, and more importantly, the safety and dreams of millions of children. MiM had trusted him. This was one battle he would not, _could not_ lose. 

Making his way carefully to the main tunnel of the Warren, he passed a pretty little silver pool, catching the moonlight in it’s still waters. As he passed, he saw his own golden reflection and paused. He smoothed down his robe and rested his hand tentatively on his belly. Hundreds of wild questions tumbled in his mind, trying to make themselves coherent, but only one petulant concern would solidify: _just saying it_ is _a child — just for argument's sake — just how big was he going to get anyway?!_

He’d already felt a definite increase in his waistline, and a funny sort of heaviness that’d he’d mostly attributed to his love of human sweets. He’d never been svelte of course and had always taken the good natured ribbing about his Ruebenesque frame with serenity. In his mind, he began to imagine himself as some sort of slowly inflating Sandy balloon, puffing up rounder and rounder until he popped in a shower of golden confetti. 

Sighing soundlessly, he pushed the thoughts away. He’d have time to battle his vanity later. Setting his little mouth in a determined frown, he conjured up his dreamcloud. Carefully he hopped onto it; instead of dissipating or crumbling, it seemed to hold strong. He looked over at his sleeping comrades and held out his palm to them, blowing a little glimmering curl of dream sand over their sleeping bodies. He sent them each a dream, something simple, sweet and clear; all his gratitude, his humbleness, and his love, thanking them for their unwavering goodness in his own silent way. Whatever happened from this point forward, he wanted them to know that he needed answers, and only one person in the entire world could help him with it. 

\------ 

Somewhere in a deep forest, darkness came home to rest in a crevice beneath an old, abandoned bed that had been left to rot in a clearing. 

Injured, broken and bleeding from fresh wounds, it all but tumbled into the cave, whimpering. It had lost the battle with the morning, as it had done on countless days since time was new and the world raw and red from birth. It slunk down echoing hallways, it’s keen howls reverberating until they could shatter glass and crack marble. It collapsed, panting and foaming with exhaustion. 

From the shadows, a cold soft hand extended and a voice, rich as oil, a salve for the shuddering darkness as it breathed it's last. 

“Tomorrow we start again” the voice soothed, brushing back the hair from the darkness’ fevered brow. “Tomorrow we fight, and one day soon you will devour the sun, consume the moon, and we will be free.


	2. Hunting for shadows

Chapter 2 - Hunting for shadows

Sandman skimmed along the treetops, held aloft by his dreamsand, peering into the dark forest below. He was very sleepy, and he kept having to pinch himself to stay awake. 

The sun’s rays were peeking over the horizon, and with it, he was fantasizing about his soft, plush bed. He knew there were faster ways to find the entrance to the nightmare realm but few of them were easy, and none of them safe. Better to walk in the front door of your own accord than to tumble in by accident while you slept, or fall into a shadow and slide into it’s dark innards, never to be heard from again. The problem was, however, that much like his ship the nightmare realm was not static. It seemed to chase the night, hide in the darkest corners of the globe, waiting for a chance to bud like an ugly mushroom in some dank shady corner. Fortunately, he _did_ have some help in finding it. 

Under his golden robes, just above his heart, there was what looked like a small hairline fracture. A memento from Pitch's attack. Tiny grains of black sand were embedded in this scar, and as he searched they tingled and burned, like tiny spatters of hot oil. He was sure that the Nightmare King had not expected it, but they were now inextricably intertwined. At first the idea had made him almost physically ill, but now he used the awful memory like a compass. 

Morning came with an anemic grey light and carried Sandy to a barren wood where a forest fire had cleared the trees of foliage, leaving the charred skeletal trunks naked in the ashen breeze. His drowsiness lifted with a jolt as he saw his target — a bed, abandoned and broken in the middle of a forest. 

He guided his cloud down and inspected the debris. A huge gash in the earth, like an open wound, lay directly beneath the broken bed frame, the darkness yawning into a fall that could kill. Taking a deep breath, he looked to the sky hoping to see the sun, but he only saw ash and fog. He hunkered down and descended into the hole. 

The darkness rushed in close, the faint light of the burned forest abandoning him quickly. By his own golden light he saw shapes in the darkness, abandoned cages hanging from an unimaginably high ceiling, chains and swinging chandeliers, broken and extinguished. Once he found the cave floor his sandcloud dissipated, and he stepped down carefully, breathing shallowly in the unpleasant dark heat. 

The cave could have belonged to a magpie. All around were heaps of blackened keys, broken typewriters, half melted lead spoons, and faded, curling photographs — discarded items that were devoid of hope or light; things that had caused fear when they were lost. 

He floated slowly over the ashen ground, his light spilling around him in a little circle. He drifted for what seemed like hours, but he did not see a single sign of life. As he searched, a dread feeling crept over him... _what if Pitch was dead?_

Was it possible that they had banished the monster entirely? 

That realization caused him to stop short and land with an unsettling bump. His breathing quickened, and suddenly he found that absolute blackness unbearable. 

Conjuring up a great swirling ball of bright golden sand, he launched it upwards where it burst into a brilliant light. As the light penetrated the shadows, the strident scream of a horse tore through the silence. 

Sandy froze. Clinging to the walls, hiding behind pillars and covering their faces, were throngs of nightmares, fearlings, and nightmare men. They shrank away from the light but began to chatter, hiss, and squeal. From the darkest swarm a shape began to emerge, a thin, angular man dressed only in shadows. Pitch Black. 

He spoke, and his voice was mocking. "I hope, whoever you are, you're claustrophobic; these creatures have had a long famine, and they're ready for some sport...." 

Pitch strode out from his shadows, fully formed, cocksure and captious. He looked down, way down, and suddenly his face collapsed with fear. 

"Kill him!" he shrieked, turning to run. The monsters howled in anguish, as if terrified of the idea but compelled to fight. As one, they turned in on Sandy. 

Sandy, as always, was ready. Flicking out his wrists neatly, two biting whips of gold materialized, singing into the darkness and cutting a swath through the shadowy horde. Agonized screams filled the hall, and Sandy found himself trying to push his way through a deluge of black sand monsters, fighting his way upstream in a river of tar. He had to get to Pitch! He could see his pale face, terrified and struggling, as it seemed that he too was having difficulty wading through the throngs of nightmare creatures. 

To Sandy’s left, he could barely make out a small company of fearlings manning a strange looking weapon. Cannonballs of black sand exploded towards him, shattering the monsters that were in their path. With one sizzling crack of the whip, he stopped the barrage in mid air, the whip wrapping around one cannonballs and it flared up into brilliant gold. Using it as a bolas, he swung the wicked looking things towards Pitch. It tangled in the Nightmare King's legs and pulled him down with a strangled cry. In seconds Sandy was on him, one foot planted firmly on Pitch's neck, the bolas pulled tight. The Sandman stared down at him savagely, mouth pulled back into a snarl, his teeth very white in his mouth. 

_It felt so good. So natural. He was standing over the body of the monster, his natural prey. He could have him right now, end his tyranny with one satisfying stroke...._

There was a rush of activity, and the shadows swarmed in to protect their king. Sandy whirled round to face them and yanked on the bolas, causing Pitch to cry out in pain. Pitch gasped and wailed to his minions, " _Stop! ...stay away...._ " 

The shadowy army shrunk back tentatively, their heads down and teeth bared. Pitch's chest heaved and he shouted at them again, "Leave, now!" 

With a collected howl of anguish the monsters melted away, leaving Pitch alone with his nightmare. 

Neither moved. Their ragged breath was the only sound in the dark. Slowly, Sandy removed his foot but he kept his tight hold on Pitch's restraints. Pitch would not look him in the eye. When he spoke, his voice was controlled, but quavering. 

"Vengeance is _always_ stronger than resolve," he whispered. 

Sandy sighed. The electric rush pumping through his system was ebbing and leaving a throbbing pain in his head that radiated down through his body. _Too much activity too fast._ He felt a deep sense of regret at having to burst in unannounced and basically start their conversation with a fight to the death. Of course Pitch was expecting retaliation. Sandy wondered for the umpteenth time if he had suddenly woken up in some nightmare of his own. Whatever was happening, he knew one thing for certain; the easy part, breaking into the Shadow Realm and bringing down the king, was over. Now to try to explain what was going on without any words. 

Sandy hauled Pitch upright. He sat in front of him, floating a few inches off the ground, legs folded beneath him. Pitch didn't move, didn't try to escape. 

"I knew this day would come very soon. From the moment I saw you strut out of my ruined cloud of nightmares, unharmed, just as pert and perky as the day you sprung forth from that goddamned crashed starship I knew I was living on borrowed time. So finish me now and at least let it be you who ends me and not one of the others, one of those dead... _humans._ " 

Pitch's snarky tone incensed the sandman, and he fought the delicious urge to whip the fallen king across the face, to shut that mouth for good. From somewhere in his body he sensed a disconnected malaise, a feeling of discomfort, but he ignored it. Extending a finger, he pointed at Pitch then himself. Above his head two figures formed. One tall and slender, the other round and short. They faced each other, and each gestured and nodded in turn. 

Pitch was not schooled in the fine art of Sandese, nor was he patient, so he only squinted at Sandy's efforts. "Charades was never my game. I don't know if you’re insulting me or you're chastising me...." 

Sandy closed his eyes and thought for a moment. He created the image of a scale, himself on one side, Pitch on the other. The scale was balanced. The tiny Pitch opened his mouth, little letters and symbols poured out. Then the tiny sandman nodded, letters forming above his head. The process repeated. 

"Oh. I see. You want to talk," Pitch hummed thoughtfully. “Why don’t you write me a letter instead. It will take less time” 

Sandy was beginning to wonder if he’d have the strength to get his answer and fight his way through again. There was no way Pitch would allow him to waltz out the way he came in. It was imperative that Pitch understand. He shook his head and clasped both hands together as if praying, his gesture pleading. _Please._

Pitch liked that. His mouth pulled back into a nasty smile. "Oh, don't _tell_ me you're feeling _regret_ because I certainly am not. I only regret underestimating your ability to stay dead." 

Sandy was not surprised by Pitch’s nastiness, but it wasn’t helping. He loosened the restraints slightly and stared him down. He jabbed a finger at Pitch again, then to his own chest. Pitch could be as stubborn as he wanted for as long as he wanted. Sandy had plenty of time. _He hoped._ He unconsciously dropped a hand to his belly and winced as a spiteful cramp bit down hard in his stomach. 

“If you want an apology, too bad — and if on the wild chance you are giving _me_ an apology, then choke on it. For how long have you and your guardian entourage been getting _exactly_ what you want? How many thousands of years worth of feeling oh-so-good about yourselves? You can’t always win. You don’t always get to teach the lesson and walk away feeling like some minor god. I’m no child and you’re no guardian of mine.” As he spoke, Pitch began his struggles anew, sensing the balance starting to shift. 

Sandy gritted his teeth and threw up his hands in disgust. _How stupid could this ‘king’ be?! It was Pitch who threatened the Guardians, not the other way around!_

Sandy called up a picture of the entire globe, spinning slowly. Pitch danced upon it, crushing continents in his mad waltz. Just before he destroyed the last, he was stopped cold by five guardians, barring his way like a wall. They closed around him and pushed him back into submission. He pulled his hands up to protect himself just as the guardians held out their own to help him to his feet. The Pitch figure rose slowly and hung his head in repentance. 

Pitch laughed maniacally, truly tickled. “A truce?! Oh that’s _cute_. You’re a pathetic liar, Sandman. So why now? You could have _invited_ me to your loving guardian embrace at _any time!_ ” 

Sandy’s face felt very hot, but he wasn’t sure if it was out of his own boiling frustration, or if the temperature of the cave had skyrocketed. He tried to form some different images, but Pitch would not allow him the courtesy. 

“You know what I like about you most? You can’t interrupt. I know damned well why you never tried to understand me after the fall of the Golden Age. I was too powerful for you and your Moon and you wouldn’t have me unless I was broken and cornered and spent — easy to control like some kind of pet. Oh, or better, a charity case! Well then, little Sandman, here is my answer; no. never. I will resist you to the ends of this miserable Earth. And if your _divine mercy_ stays your hand, you’ll have to live with the knowledge that I’ll keep fighting you until you kill me yourself! How is that for a lesson? See how far you can sling dreams with blood on your hands.” 

_Of all the awful times to fall ill._ Sandy reeled with vertigo, his stomach roiling, head throbbing with each heartbeat. He screwed his eyes shut tightly and fought back the urge to vomit, staggering backwards and folding over double. The sand restraints finally yielded to Pitch’s struggles, and he stood triumphantly. Pitch loomed over the sandman. His voice was low, controlled, and dangerous. “Get up. You wanted to talk. Let’s not waste any more time.” 

Sandy shook his head miserably, trying not to cower. _He needed a moment. He needed a million moments._

“ _I said get up and fight me!_ ” Pitch roared, rearing back and kicking Sandy in the ribs. 

The second he made direct contact with Sandy’s body, Pitch’s eyes flew open wide. In the very centre of his mind, something came into sharp focus. A presence. It was as if a tiny voice had called his name, sweet as the scent of a flower on the wind. It was so familiar. _Sitting on a lunar hillside, watching the constellations rise, holding her hand and tracing the orbit of Mars and Mercury into her palm._

The momentum of the kick had thrown Sandy into a pile of broken picture frames. He rolled over miserably, the shards of glass and splinters of wood shifting and cracking beneath him. He pushed up on his palms and was violently ill, heaving until his throat was ragged and perspiration beaded his clammy brow. 

“No. No, no, no....” Pitch choked, flying to the little guardian’s side and roughly flipping him over. The Nightmare King brutally yanked open the collar of Sandy’s robe and pressed his hand hard against his chest, the other hand curled into a claw, pinning Sandy’s left wrist to the ground. 

“What was that? What are you?” he demanded, eyes wild and darting, willing the voice to come back. 

Sandy winced and wriggled his right arm out from under his body, grabbing hold of Pitch’s searching hand, and forcing it down onto the soft curve of his stomach. He looked fiercely into Pitch’s eyes, searching for recognition, praying that his instincts had been right. 

Pitch froze, then broke contact, scrambling backwards with a sob. Words spoken by a stranger collided in his brain, _child, family ...daughter ...wish ...my wish...!_

“How?” he croaked. 

Sandy sat up painfully, tugging the folds of his robes back across his chest. _Finally._ He had seen exactly what Pitch had seen in that violent second, and he felt very tired, very old, and very sad. His whole world was imploding. 

He didn’t feel that he had enough left in the golden spring deep in his body to communicate, definitely not enough to make his point clear. He scooped up a glittering handful of black sand and blew on it gently, the fine grains drifted upwards to mingle with his own. With as much strength as he could muster, he imagined an epic cloudscape, himself fighting Pitch’s nightmare horde, lashing at them ferociously. Pitch rose up behind him and pierced him through the heart with a bolt of pure black. The image shifted. 

The bolt tore through the diminutive Sandman, reducing him to so much dust, but the heart it pierced remained intact. Instead of shattering it, the black sand poured into it, filling it. The Pitch figure took the heart and cradled it against his chest, seeming to whisper something to it. The heart then began to move, to change shape...It grew and lengthened, twisting up like a shoot. The man was now holding a child, a young girl with dark hair. They embraced joyously. 

Sandy stopped for a moment to look at her. This image was not entirely his own design, it had happened as if he was on autopilot, and the figures were very much a surprise. The little girl was so beautiful, light and airy like a breeze, even as a child she had a graceful poise.... _She must have been amazing._

Pitch exploded and grabbed him by the collar, drawing him near and flecking his cheeks with saliva as he roared, “Don’t you _ever use her face, you filthy little liar!_ ” He backhanded Sandy hard enough to draw the little guardian’s golden blood. Sandy could not even muster the energy to fight. The image collapsed, the light extinguishing around them. 

Pitch crumpled, letting Sandy fall like a discarded toy. He made a sound, a strange wounded sob, and drew his knees in close to his chest. 

“You _bastard_ , I thought you were meant to protect them. How dare you use her. How _dare_ you” 

Sandy lay with his forehead on the cold stone floor, willing himself not to fall apart at the seams. 

The sudden sting of the slap had brought hot tears to his eyes — at least he told himself it was the sting. The intense pain that had wrenched the controls from his hands had subsided, but it was replaced with bile and burning shame. _So it is a child. of sorts. An infant spirit that had somehow been brought into existence in a moment of utter destruction._

Beneath Pitch’s madman’s gamble for power, the megalomaniacal greed driving him to shroud the world in fear, was a mortal who lamented the loss of his child. And he, Sandman, a guardian of dreams whose very existence was to ease the suffering and fear of innocence, had made the perfect vessel for Pitch’s desperate unspoken plea. He buried his head in his hands, overwhelmed. 

Long ago, before the world knew light, he’d had the glorious gift to grant the wish of one who saw his starship as it blazed across the sky. He’d traded that power for the dreamsand, but somehow his old enemy from the Golden Age must have managed to re-awaken enough of that latent ability that he thought lost. 

_Yet, what if this was a trick? Pitch had once sought to turn the Man in the Moon into his fearling prince. Perhaps he’d found a better means to that end, with an easier target. Maybe their victory over him two months ago had only just delayed his eventual domination?_

Still, Pitch’s anguish had seemed real... very real. And he himself had felt the pang of longing from the sprite nestled in his belly when Pitch touched it. _For certain, he’d be unable to return to his friends, and doubly certain he would not go to the Lamadary. If they discovered that his condition was linked to Pitch Black, they’d be dumbstruck, fearful, maybe even angry. He could not do that to them. He would have to return to his ship and avoid them altogether. It would not be easy, but he’d been a guardian for far longer than they and he’d mastered the art of disappearing. It was the only way._

The need to reach out, to help, to comfort, to _do what was right...._ It was what drove him, it was his center, as North had been fond of saying, and despite the eons of change in the world, despite the wars and famine he had seen, he’d never once questioned what ‘right’ was. The moon had told him that long ago. 

_But there is no moon out tonight._

He struggled to stand, but a murky weight settled onto his shoulders like a filthy, moth-eaten fur stole. He recognized it, knew that familiar smell of despair that had nearly consumed him after he had first returned from Pitch’s dark prison. _Hello old friend. How nice to see your face again._

Right now he didn’t want to fight it. He let it settle on him like a mother hen on her brood, crooning a sick lullaby and sending him into a heavy miserable sleep.


	3. Lead and Compromise

Chapter 3 - Lead and compromise

Pitch Black stared at the Sandman, his mind a tumult of noise. In the middle of his lair lay his enemy, and he could have dispatched him if he pleased, but an opportunity beyond his wildest dreams now slumbered in his enemy’s insides. He reached down to the little golden body prostrate in front of him, but his hand froze, fingers curling back as if afraid of being burnt. He called into the darkness and a nightmare appeared, sauntering shyly to its master’s side, nuzzling into his cloak. “Pick that up,” he gestured. 

The nightmare hesitated, laying its ears back and whickering softly. Pitch played his fingers through its dark mane soothingly. “He won’t hurt you. He wouldn’t dare. Pick him up.” The nightmare dutifully obliged, grabbing sandy by the collar and lifting him up. Pitch noticed that the guardian’s flesh looked grayish and dry. Perhaps the strain of this wish was killing him. The idea of losing an adversary and gaining a precious boon was attractive to say the least, but it had a price. The Sandman may have been weakened, but he was a powder keg. Who was to say what kind of wrath he would rain down on him if he found his strength again? 

“Follow me” he commanded to the nightmare, walking down a long dark corridor. The master and his charge stopped in a wing of chambers long since forgotten. A heavy door barred his way, and he shouldered it open to a squeal of protest. Inside was a small room, dark, oppressive, and musty. Clapping his hands, more nightmare creatures appeared, two small fearlings and a lanky nightmare man. 

“Clean this up. When it’s suitable for something to live in, come fetch me-” he smirked “-never mind making it _too_ comfy. Hopefully we won’t have to deal with this long. You, come on.” 

The nightmare tossed her head nervously and followed in Pitch’s long trailing shadow. She did not like the smell of this thing in her jaws, she recognized it as something ancient and awful, an enemy that they should be tearing to shreds, not carting about. They walked to a circular room filled with shadow. In the far corner was a throne of black velvet and splintered mahogany. “Put him there,” he barked. Pitch pulled back a moldering tapestry and revealed a small storage space in the wall. Inside was a jumble of chains and restraints, tarnished and dusty from disuse. He pulled out a heavy chain and smiled at it lovingly. Turning back to the sandman, he leered. “Time to take the upper hand, again.” 

With the help of his nightmare, Pitch chained the tiny sandman to the chair, tightly as he dared, just leaving his bruised face peeping over the restraints. When he was satisfied that the guardian would be completely unable to work his way free, he took a step back and admired his handiwork. Dismissing his nightmare to the shadows, he grabbed a small handful of blacksand and compressed it into a hard dark little clump, then pitched it at Sandy’s face with all his might. He did not deny how good that felt. 

The Sandman blinked and sputtered, shaking off the offending dark sand, squirming uncomfortably as the grains made their way down the collar of his robe. He blinked in the hot dark, feeling parched and uncomfortable. Something solid and heavy was holding him tightly. 

“Lead, Sandman.” Pitch smiled. “It worked to imprison moon beams, so a fat little guardian should be no challenge. Hope you don’t mind my ideas of ‘hospitality’ but you have a bad track record of never letting me get a word in edgewise. Quite a feat for a mute.” 

Sandy glowered at Pitch. The previous battle crashed into his memory all at once, and suddenly panic began to whisper and tug at him fervently. _He was alone and at the mercy of the madman and the others didn’t even know where he was...._

“I’ve thought it over, Sandman,” Pitch continued, “If my interpretations of your insane little pictures are right, what you have in there,” he poked hard at Sandy’s belly, “is mine.” 

He stood up, smiling down at him beatifically. 

Sandy shrunk back, mind reeling. 

“I will take your silence to mean you agree with me. Good! So if that’s mine, then I want it. You came to me so I assume you think I have some sort of responsibility to it, which I will gladly shoulder...But only on my terms. I’m not going to fall into some Guardian trap, so I’m going to keep you here as collateral. If it turns out that you are indeed the most unfortunate creature in the world and this is an honest to gods baby you can go back to your best friends you all can play house with it for all I care...But if it’s my wish, I want it and I want it with no strings attached. You know you can’t leave until the wish is granted, _Shooting Star_ ” Pitch jeered. 

Sandy hoisted an eyebrow incredulously. Pitch must have been truly intrigued, but there was a far more important matter to consider. He conjured up images of the moon, and of a bed with a child sleeping in it. 

“Oh. Yes. The children of course. I know your ideas of a deal breaker. I’ve considered this as well.” Pitch grabbed Sandy out of the chair by a loop of chain. He held him disdainfully at his side like a dirty duffel bag and snapped a finger. Suddenly they both dropped through the shadow at Pitch’s feet. It was cold, as cold as the heart of a glacier, colder even than Jack’s frosty touch, but just as soon as it started, it was over, and they stood on a high peak. They were on top of a mountain, in some strange round cage half buried in the ground. Sandy was not sure where they could be, but there was nothing but dry mountain peaks for miles around, and the sky was a strange muted orange. 

“This is your temporary ‘office’. When night falls, you can use it to make your dreams. I’ll send you here with one of my nightmares, and you can do whatever you need to do.” he flicked one of the bars of the cage, listening to it’s sonorous ping. “Lead is so versatile, you know...Your dreams will get through, but there’s no way out for you. Just a little insurance. Additionally, you can come and go as you please if a nightmare or fearling accompanies you...Meaning that you can only travel by shadow.” 

He snapped again and they were back in the throne room. Pitch dropped Sandy and crouched down in front of him again, pinning him with his eyes. 

“I can see you’re not exactly convinced. So here’s an additional incentive. Let’s call it a gesture of good will. For the entirety of your...gestation, I will not send a single nightmare. Not. one.” Pitch stood up and stared down at the sandman. Sandy’s face was set in a grim, pensive frown. Neither looked the other in the eyes. 

“So, Sanderson Mansnoozie, do we have...a deal?” Sandy sighed. He thought back to the Warren, to the evening before. This was a dangerous line to cross. Trusting Pitch Black was not an action to take lightly. However, it seemed that Pitch was actually making some vague attempt at diplomacy. It was clear that Pitch understood and accepted that Sandy was carrying something that was at least partially his own doing, and he seemed to still fear what the other Guardians would do if it was discovered that the Sandman went missing. He also seemed to understand that Sandy could not abandon his dreamspinning. But why the offer for clemency? The idea of months with no fear for his flocks was incredibly enticing. 

Regardless of what he _thought_ and what Pitch’s intention actually was, one fact remained; Whatever was inside of him, it had been put there because of a wish. Sandy was gutted. Pitch was absolutely right. He was duty bound to honor the wish, and until he was free from the bond, he was Pitch’s captive. 

Sandy’s head was pounding again, and the injuries he had sustained during their battle were snarling at him aggressively. He wished he could see Bunny again, as he was fairly certain the kick he’d been dealt from Pitch’s black boot had broken a few ribs judging from the pain he was suffering. He didn’t want to be there, could not imagine what was just about to happen, but he could think of no other way. Looking directly into Pitch’s eyes, he struggled half heartedly, trying to un-pin an arm. The chains were far too tight. A glittering hand materialized above his head, held out sideways. Pitch looked at it, confused, then laughed a bitter little laugh. Conjuring up a black hand with his own sand, he extended it and the two joined in a strange handshake. 

“Well then. Welcome to your temporary home, _mommy dearest_. Let him free and take him to his quarters. Baby needs it's rest.” 

As a fearling came forward to remove the restraints, Pitch disappeared into the shadows, his laughter still echoing in the dark chamber. Free of his bonds, the sandman stood alone in the derelict throneroom. He sank to his knees and sighed. At the very least he knew one thing; the children would not be abandoned...No matter how dire the circumstances.


	4. Isolation

Chapter 4 - Isolation

Thousands of miles away, rain lashed a building rooftop in Shanghai China. The sky was a bruised purple and bolts of lightning split the clouds. Regardless, Toothiana’s wings were strong and steady, and she cut through the rain like jeweled scimitar. 

On a distant roof, she spied the burst of color and light that signified a snowglobe portal had been opened. She made a b-line for it, landing lightly on the rain battered roof just as a figure in a heavy coat turned to face her. 

“Any luck?” North shouted above the rain. 

Tooth shook her head, cupping her hand around her mouth to amplify her voice. 

“Not a wisp. I’ve searched all of Asia. Nothing! The children are sleeping peacefully, not a single nightmare. I swore I saw a little glitter of gold on their eyelids though...” 

North cursed eloquently and grabbed another snowglobe out of his coat. “This is obviously not the place. Come! We should get out of rain!” 

Shaking the globe, he tossed it on the ground, shouting out a destination as he did so. Diving through, they found themselves on the shores of a misty green island. North shuddered and wrung out his beard. “Ugh. Next time we let Bunny handle the monsoon regions!” He grunted. Tooth fluffed up her feathers and shook off the rain, prisms bouncing with the raindrops as they pattered beneath her. “I don’t mind.” She said, shivering. 

North harrumphed and fished around in his pocket for a pack of matches and his pipe. “Well, as of today, that’s all 7 continents and almost 190 countries...Hey! Look on bright side. Now we can start on nearly 100,000 inhabited islands...” North laughed, but it was soon cut off when he discovered that the last match in his book was sodden and wilted. Tooth only whirred her wings in response to North’s jest. She turned and looked into the grey morning sky. North could not help but notice how careworn and tired she seemed, her ebullience muted like a landscape in the winter. He rested his hand on her shoulder and smiled, but his eyes betrayed him. Neither seemed up to the task of encouragement. Tooth rubbed her arms to warm herself. “They know this is the place, right?” North squinted at a delicate gold pocket watch and nodded, just as a brisk wind kicked up, causing the tall pines that lined the shore to shimmy and shiver in the wind. Jack breezed in, hooking his staff around a low lying tree branch to sling himself back to the shore. He did not have to ask about Sandy, one look at his friends’ faces said as much. 

”The good news is, Canada and the Arctic islands are done...” He ran a hand through his pale hair, digging his toes into the pebbly shore. “I ran into Bunny as I was passing through South America this morning...He says he won’t be here today and that he...uh....well he said to ‘do whatever you think is necessary'...” 

Actually, that wasn’t what he had said...It was more like ‘Tell them that I’m not damned well searching for someone who doesn’t want to be found anymore’, but Jack figured a little finesse was good for situations like this. 

North and Tooth only nodded, both seeming to understand Bunny’s position, yet at the same time were ready to completely ignore it. 

It had been almost a month since the debacle at the warren, and no one had seen hide nor hair of the Sandman. 

North and Tooth had flown into a full blown panic upon discovering that Sandy had disappeared the morning after the party, and it had been Jack who actually reminded them of what a blow it must have been to Sandy’s pride to have endured the situation in the first place. 

“Imagine how you would feel,” he chided “if all your friends suddenly started treating you like some kid who needed looking after. And being...erm...pregnant? That’s like a double whammy. I’m sure he’s just somewhere trying to digest all this...” 

But even Jack had to give over to worry when Bunny reminded him of how sick Sandy had been before their interference. “We don’t know what would have happened. He could have died. He’s just being a damned stubborn fool, and we can’t afford him that luxury.” They had then staged a full on global sweep for Sandy, which had been unsuccessful. 

At the very least the dreams were still coming. Terrified for his safety as they were, they knew that Sandy had to be still alive. Each night like clockwork, sand spiraled down from above, carrying sweet dreams just as they always had. Often, Jack and Tooth would try to follow those streams but the trail would go cold before they could reach the origin. North was calling in favors from any and all Guardian sympathetics he could contact; but no one had seen anything of their gentle little friend. 

One thing they did not discuss unless in total secrecy was the subject of the infant. It was an unspoken agreement that they would not seek council with the Man in the Moon until they found Sandy again. They owed him that much at least, even if he had disappeared without a trace. The entire situation had put them on a strange spectrum of acceptance. North was already embracing the thing as a baby, had even gone so far as to start carving an ornate crib in his workshop for when Sandy returned. After the initial shock wore off, Tooth was not too far behind him, although she was very concerned about the implications that fatherhood (motherhood?!) would have on a busy working Sandman. Bunny still vehemently objected to them calling it a baby, clearly unwilling to accept that it was anything but a liability, and a potential threat to the Guardians as a whole. Which left Jack, stuck in the middle, afraid for Sandy while at the same time angry that the others would be so quick to doubt the sandman’s instincts. As for the thought of a baby - he was completely lost. He knew that it was an accident, Sandy’s reaction had made that clear. Yet somehow it had happened, and a secret part of Jack, a tiny part way down deep inside, was a little excited. It would be like having a baby brother or sister, wouldn’t it? 

Unfortunately, the dual strain of searching and their guardian responsibilities was starting to wear them all thin. They met each day, no good news to share. Bunny, quickest to anger and slowest to forgive, had finally decided that since Sandy was clearly not interested in being found, he was calling off his search and focusing on his job. “As long as the little ones get what they need from him, and those dreams keep coming every night, Sandman can play hide and go seek forever for all I care. I’m done.” 

And then there were 3. They gathered on the island to make a decision- continue their fruitless search, or let fate decide. 

Jack, Tooth and North sat in silence for a moment, just watching the grey ocean stretch out to an equally grey horizon. 

“So...What now?” Jack asked tentatively. 

North’s voice was very soft, “I understand Bunny. It’s very hard, this. Nothing like this has ever happened before...” 

Tooth and Jack turned to him, and it seemed like neither of them were breathing. 

”...But as for me... _I_ will not stop. Not until Sandy and little Nicholas are home.” North looked at them both, as if challenging them. 

Tooth was already hovering above them, her wings a blur of color against the slate and shale sky. Her face was still pale, but her voice was full of renewed confidence “I’m going to start with the islands, I’ll start here and make my way towards the Pacific...” She paused for only a second to take both of their hands and press a quick, sweet kiss onto their foreheads before taking to the sky again. 

Jack smiled at North and summoned the wind. “Until Sandy’s home.” He said. 

The elder guardian’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Until he’s home...Oh, and...I race you to Australia!” 

\------ 

Sandy had quite a bit of trouble acclimating to his new environment. Being buried under miles of rock and dirt in utter darkness was not his idea of a comfortable situation. For the weeks following their tense meeting in the throne room, Sandman and Pitch saw very little of each other. They would pass each other in the great hallways, and occasionally Sandy would turn to see a long, thin shadow rustle and move, but that was the nature of the nightmare realm; it was, well, scary. What he did see a lot of was Pitch's minions. They served as his guides in the labyrinthine lair, and provided him with the barest essentials for daily living. At first, they shrank from him, skirting around corners and staying just in his periphery when they brought him a meal or a book, but eventually they began to relax. He learned to understand how they moved, and how they reacted to stimuli. 

The fearlings were small and slight and they were the most skittish, but they were also the fastest, and they seemed to be almost playful; they loved to dive into the narrowest pools of shadow and launch themselves across the miniature sunbeams that Sandy's golden dreamdust threw out. They were also quite naughty, and he usually got a nip on the ear or nose if he stayed out too late in the mountains. The nightmare men were strong and stoic, and they seemed to be the grunt crew of Pitch's realm. They never played or cavorted like the fearlings, but they were reliable and tenacious, and could be terribly frightening. He still felt a residual aversion to them, their long lanky arms and blank faces recalled memories of crashed starships and destroyed constellations, but he had not felt a single shred of malice from them since his self imposed imprisonment had begun. Last of course were the nightmares, and those were Sandy's favorites. The black horse creatures had a keen intelligence and a piercing gaze, and they were actually the most gentle. However, they did not trust him, and they would never approach unless Pitch demanded it of them. Sandy would see them just flickering in the dark, feel their yellow eyes watching him. 

As the days lengthened throughout the summer, Sandy found himself completely alone in how he was handling his current condition. With no Bunnymund to rely on for herbal remedies, and no books to read about 'What to Expect When Expecting a Baby Nightmare', he was adrift. Still, he worked around the periods of intense exhaustion and dreamspinning as best he could, trying his own improvised methods alleviate the pain or discomfort when the incubating spirit began to cause him grief. Mostly, his 'methods' meant sleeping uncomfortably in the heat, and spending as much time as he could outside in his dream cage when night fell. However, worst of all was a feeling of loneliness that he had never experienced before. For centuries he had spent most of his evenings with nothing but the night sky for company, and never once had he felt so isolated. He thought perhaps it was the sprite’s doing, but he yearned for contact. That desire was just as strong as any physical craving, but unfortunately, it was completely unattainable. His days were very long indeed. 

One particularly hot and humid evening, he gathered up several books of Hindu legends and found an obliging nightmare to take him to the dream cage. He spent the evening sending dreams that he was not particularly pleased with; they seemed disjointed, bitter sweet, and somehow hastily thrown together. The longer he worked, the more it irritated him. By midnight, he was afraid that he’d end up sending some poor child something truly deranged, so he switched instead to his old standbys, dreams of flight, or dreams of giant friendly animals that pranced and sang and sent up puffs of pink cloud. He was stewing fretfully when his stomach did a flip flop, and he felt a strong little jerk deep down inside. The sensation nearly knocked him off his dreamcloud. Eyes wide with shock, he tentatively rested a hand on his middle and felt a little nudge in response. _The sprite!_ Well, he was in for the long haul now. No turning back. His expression softened and he sat crosslegged, fascinated for the first time with the being inside. _Hello, little dream-thing. Your first kick. I suppose that calls for a celebration of sorts?_

He jumped as something nosed him in the cheek, making a soft whickering sound. The nightmare who'd brought him to the mountain. With a look of surprise, he raised his hand, very slowly and gently reaching out to pet her nose. Her skin was coarse and scratchy, but he didn’t mind. Maybe the sprite had piqued her interest, or maybe it was his disheartened sighs, but whatever the case was, she seemed keen to inspect him, nudging his side and nibbling on his flaxen hair. Sandy moved his hand down and stroked the strong contours of her cheek, squirming with delight when she bumped him again, her breath tickling his neck. _Two firsts in one evening. How auspicious._

He stayed that way for a little while, letting the dreamsands slowly dissipate, one hand on his belly, the other on the nightmare's neck. A grumpy little pang of hunger nudged him, and he smiled. If it was a special night, he deserved a special treat. Turning to the nightmare, he took her face in his hands and clicked his tongue at her. _Sweets!_ He conjured up an image of a great, big strawberry studded cake, glittering like a confectionery gem. The nightmare whinnied and tossed her head, seeming to understand what it was he wanted, but unsure how to get it for him. He patted her cheek and shushed her. Very slowly, he drifted up until he was level and sat gingerly on her back. She tensed, but a few reassuring strokes on her ears and she relaxed. There. Now to politely suggest an outing. 

Thinking harder this time, he imagined a narrow, cobble stone street. Cozy little fachwerk shops nestled at its sides, with their doors open to send warm light to the outside. _It's Germany, a little konditorei I know of, with the best edelbeerkuchen._ In the vision, the black mare trotted down the street with the sandman on her back. They paused outside of the bakery while he drifted in and fetched a pretty little box tied with string. 

The nightmare clacked her teeth and laid back her ears. Bad idea. She had her orders to obey the Sandman's wishes, but in her heart she recognized escape when she smelled it. 

Sandy shook his head and smoothed his hands over her black gritty hide. _It's only for a moment, I promise. We'll go and return and even bring something for your master...Come now...the nightmare-brood wishes it... ___

The nightmare snorted nervously, then stood still. Sandy sighed. It had been worth a shot in any case. He was about to dismount when she took a tentative step into shadow, then sprinted off in a run. Sandy clung to her neck, little hands tangled in the black sand of her mane. He chanced a peep around her coursing head, and saw dark images of cities and towns rush by. She seemed to cross entire countries in her dash, and the blur of lights was dizzying and exhilarating. Sandy would have loved to urge her on, faster and faster, but the gentle curve of his belly against the nightmare’s back reminded him to be prudent. In seconds they emerged from a dark alley, hiding behind the corner while a few passers by meandered on the sidewalks. Sandy enthusiastically ruffled the ears of his mount and floated down, already sniffing the air for the delicious scent of the cakes in the shop. She whinnied softly, nudging him in the shoulder and nipping at his robe. Sandy stroked her nose while he fished around in his robe for something suitable to trade for the pastry. 

Unfortunately for him, no culture in the world had ever adopted the habit of thanking anyone for sweet dreams, although he often eyed North’s cookie stash with a tiny nip of jealousy and wondered if perhaps he should suggest such a thing. Nonetheless,for as long as he'd been a guardian, he'd never once stolen a single bite of food from the sleepers, and he wasn't about to start. Although he'd have to wait until no one was looking juuust in case some particularly childish adult caught a glimpse of him, he still insisted on leaving something to thank them for their troubles. He watched the shop for a while, waiting patiently until a table with 3 ridiculously squealing young ladies with sketchbooks and computers cleared out. One, the shortest with spiky hair, stopped a moment and stared right in his direction, squinting through her green glasses. He ducked out of sight, waiting for her to shrug and disappear after her friends. _Finally! ___

Taking one last peek into the street, Sandy drifted into the shop, keeping low out of sight. The young man at the counter rubbed his eyes and yawned, stretching. He pulled a phone out of his pocket and began fiddling with it, leaning against the back counter and giving Sandy the perfect opportunity to peruse the cakes in the glass case without fear of discovery. Sandy was in heaven. Just the sight of the sexy pastries made him weak in the knees, and he had to use every ounce of his strength not to press his face against the glass and drool. _I'm not sure what you like, little dream-child, but I'll just get a little extra of my usual...And one for my nightmare waiting outside...And I suppose one for that other nightmare back in the dark realm. ___

Hopping lightly behind the counter, he waffled over several different flavors, having a hard time deciding if he preferred chocolate or strawberry. Clearly the clerk was not interested, so he took his time to make his choice, then tied them neatly in a few leaves of wax paper. He then took out 2 small, perfectly cut rubies from his robe and left them on the now empty cake plate. He didn't remember where they had come from - either they were souvenirs from a dragon’s den, or they had come from the crown of a long dead noble - but hopefully the boy would have use for them. Arms loaded with sugary temptations, he triumphantly waddled out of the pastry shop, fairly glowing with satisfaction. He paused. Sandy ducked back in and emerged a second time already nibbling on a custard pastry. No point in leaving hungry. 

The nightmare pawed the ground, seemingly relieved that he had returned. He smiled at her and gave her a thumbs up, taking a generous corner of his cake and offering it to her. She snuffled at it curiously, delicately picking it up with only her lips. They watched the slow trickle of shoppers on the street, munching in silence. The sprite curled up inside was still, and he wondered just how aware it was of what went on outside its little cocoon. For now, he felt content, a peacefulness with the sprite and a solidarity with the horse, since they now all shared a little secret pact formed over a chocolate eclair. As soon as the nightmares started fidgeting nervously, he hopped up on her back and nudged her back to the shadows. _No use in pushing my luck, friend. Let’s go home._ They were about to dive back into the alley when he stopped her abruptly with a tug on her mane. He looked skywards and confirmed what it was he thought he had seen out of the corner of his eye. His face lit up with excitement. The Baku! 

It was a long way from home, out there in the middle of Europe, but then again, it was a night-traveler just as himself and would wander far and wide as it pleased. The moon colored tapir-like creature slowly floated high above the clouds, its little feet paddling as if swimming in the sea. Its delicate snout snuffled through the wispy clouds, constantly searching for morsels. It had been around for a very very long time, almost as long as the sandman himself, and he knew it as a friendly beast, an ally. Almost tumbling off of the nightmare in his excitement, Sandy sent a tendril of dream sand up to the Baku, and it turned its sorrowful face towards him, its tiny ears perked up in interest. 

Leaving the pastries and the nightmare behind, he glided up to the monster, all smiles and precious buckteeth. He had not seen the beast in years, and how strangely fitting that it be on that night. As he approached it, his brow furrowed. Something seemed out of place about the beast. Normally, its hide was a beautiful soft white, but it seemed greyed out and dull. Its eyes were sunken in, and a runnel of saliva hung from its slack jaw. He stopped a few paces away, looking the Baku over for a sign of injury or damage. Sandy then realized with horror what was happening; The Baku was starving. 

Pitch's promise! He had been withholding nightmares, and the Baku's only sustenance came from those bad dreams that trickled out of Pitch’s lair. Sandy's heart ached for the fellow dream-denizen. _Maybe it will eat some good dreams? I'll have to talk to Pitch about this... ___

As he neared it, the Baku shuffled, hanging its head. It took a few tentative steps forward and raised its trunk, strange little pointed teeth showing in the starlight. Sandy held his hands out, making a little dream bundle to offer it when the Baku made a low, throaty growl. The sound was so deep and loud, Sandy could hear the shriek and wail of car alarms set off below. He hesitated for a moment, worry clouding his face. _I know, old friend...I'm sorry..._ He clicked his tongue at it at as he had with his nightmare, hoping that it would calm down. 

The Baku snorted and ground its molars, its tiny eyes glaring balefully. It was gentle, but very, very large, and very powerful. It bellowed again, and this time Sandy took a step back. _Shh, it’s ok, I know you’re hungry, please try to calm down_. Suddenly, the creature rumbled and pawed, then charged him, tons of beast hurtling through the night sky. Sandy dropped out of its path on his cloud just in time. Either out of delirium or hunger, the monster was enraged, and he could not imagine the damage it would do once it got hold of him. He cursed himself silently when he realized his mistake. The Baku had picked up the scent of the nightmare on his robes and hands. Sandy’s mouth widened with a silent scream, and he only just ducked out of the way as the monster charged a second time, barreling past him to the street below, crashing down and twisting around wildly as it lost control, taking out lamps and cars in the alley. Screams filled the air, as the precious few bystanders witnessed a catastrophe with no discernible cause. 

Sandy’s mind raced. _I have to lure it away before it hurts someone!_ Summoning up his dreamcloud, Sandy shot high into the sky, hoping to lead the Baku to some uninhabited mountains where he could try to help it. He fired softball sized bolts of sand at it to get its attention, which worked far more effectively than he’d hoped. The Baku roared and righted itself, not slowed down in the least by its fall. It thundered towards him, and Sandy got the sinking feeling that he was not going to outrun it. He'd been careless; it was late, he was already quite tired, and the strain of activity was slowing him down painfully. 

Down below, the nightmare emerged from the rubble of the alley, and saw the beast rampaging hot on the heels of her tiny sandman. She screamed in rage, and quick as shadows she streaked out into the night sky. She rushed the monster, galloping along beside it and rearing up to strike it with her flinty hooves. The Baku recoiled, but caught her scent almost instantly. It slowed, foamy saliva smearing across its cheeks and turned on her. Its eyes rolled madly in their sockets, hunger and rage driving it into a blind frenzy. It gnashed at the nightmare, trying to catch her legs in its jaws. The nightmare was much quicker, and she leaped out of its way every time it lunged, but the Baku’s attacks were relentless. She would tire and diminish at this rate, while it would plow through her mercilessly. 

Sandy doubled back, gesturing and waving madly to get the Baku’s attention, mind full of the grisly image of what it would do once it caught her. 

Sandy’s whips materialized, and he lashed out at the monster. He caught it full across the back, laying its white skin open garishly. The Baku bellowed in pain and rounded on him, charging at him like a runaway freight train. Sandy climbed higher, hoping to give the nightmare enough time to dash into the shadows, but he could tell she was not going to leave him. Jaw set into a grimace of fear, he looked below. They had managed to bring the fight over a wide dark lake, not a single light shining on its surface. Taking a deep breath, his dreamcloud disappeared, and he let himself plunge out of the sky, tumbling uncontrollably. The monster dived after him, massive legs like blurring pistons. He closed his eyes and pulled every last ounce of strength from his body, sucking out the reserves of his power. With one huge blast, he enveloped the Baku in an explosion of sand, the light like a blast of phosphorous. The monster shuddered and sighed, and its body went slack. It fell into a deep sleep, like that of a hibernating animal; at almost the same second, Sandy blacked out. They streaked towards the lake, a white monster and tiny guardian in an uncontrolled freefall. Seconds later, the Baku crashed into the lake, sending a great geyser of gold and freezing water spouting into sky. Sandy waited for the freezing concrete slap of the water, and was only barely aware of the feeling of being lifted into the air. He opened his eyes, and he was being held in the jaws of his Nightmare as she sped towards the dark countryside. She had pulled him from the frigid waters seconds before the body of the Baku carried him to the depths. _The Baku...what have I done!? ___

He looked at the lake below, the surface churning at the great beast sank to the bottom, asleep, dead, he did not know. He buried his face in his hands and wept, the tears freezing on his cheeks as they plunged into a shadow to return to the nightmare realm. 

\----- 

When they arrived, Sandy was sick with panic. _I have to find out what happened to the Baku._ He tugged at his nightmare, begging her to take him back to the lake, but she only stamped and snorted, nosing him down the hall to his quarters. She would not do this again. When he fought against her, she bent down and picked him up by the collar, ignoring his struggles. 

With an almost human gesture, she pawed the door open to his quarters and dropped him inside, showing her teeth at him in a threat. The door clanged shut, and she dropped through the shadows, leaving him alone and soaking wet. He pounded angrily on the heavy lead door for a good half hour, but finally relented. Too tired to think, he stripped his soaking robes and collapsed in his bed, bitter tears still flowing. 

That morning he slept fitfully. Upon waking, his thoughts went immediately to the Baku, and he struggled out of bed in a frenzy. He looked into the gloom and noticed that the door to his room was open. Wrapping himself in the scratchy grey duvet and limping for freedom, he peeped around the door, intending to make a break for it. 

"Your new 'friend' told me all about your adventure last night, Sandman" 

That sardonic voice. Sandy whipped around to find Pitch leaning casually against the wall outside his chamber. His nightmare stood in the shadows behind him, her head low. Sandy’s face flushed hot, as if he was a disobedient teen who had been discovered sneaking out past curfew. Sandy desperately sent Pitch visions of the Baku, of the lake, and a plea to allow him to go to the Baku's aid. 

"That monster, the one you call the Baku, is sleeping in the mountains. I sent some nightmare men to move it to a cave. It's not dead, not yet, but It's too weak to awaken on its own, which is probably saving its life. As soon as this whole ordeal is over, you can go back and awaken it again and it will survive, once the nightmares return." 

Sandy blinked. He had not expected that response. He staggered, one hand on his chest as if to still his thundering heart. He looked up at Pitch and sent him a small glimmer of gratitude. Sighing, he turned to his chamber. With the weight of the Baku’s fate lifted, he wanted only to go back and collapse in his bed and sleep. Pitch stopped barred his way with one foot. 

"Where do you think you’re going?,” Pitch’s voice turned splintery with malice. “You listen and you listen closely, Sandman..." He hissed, wrinkling his nose, "We had a deal. I ALLOWED you the freedom to come and go as you pleased because you need to take care of my wish...but you seem intent on killing it and I won't allow that to happen. From now on, I will be the one to fetch your meals, and I will be the one to take you to the mountains, is that clear? You're going to spin your dreams and incubate my wish and that is ALL. Nothing more." 

Sandy's face was incredulous. Now Pitch was intending to keep him like some kind of livestock? Sandy was furious. He sent him a vision of a gangly and appallingly grotesque Pitch, shouting out orders and trying to cage a small yellow bird. Each time he grabbed it and shoved it into the cage, the bird would not oblige, and it kept slipping through the bars to freedom. Sandy lifted his chin ever so slightly and dared him to answer. 

Pitch rolled his eyes and snorted. "I highly doubt that. Whether you like it or not, you're getting big and you’re getting slow. One more run in like last night, and you’re dead. I'm doing this to keep an eye on you," Pitch vanished and reappeared behind Sandy and gave him a push down the hall. "First order of business is getting something besides sugar into that gullet of yours. Move." 

Sandy glowered and resisted, but he knew again that Pitch was right. That stunt could have gotten himself and his little passenger killed. Cursing and pulling the duvet tightly around himself, he walked ahead, refusing to look back at the nightmare king. Pitch led them to a new chamber, somewhere in the upper levels of the realm. When they arrived, Sandy noticed that somehow some natural light was seeping in, falling meekly on a small wooden table with two chairs. Pitch strode to the table and pulled out a chair, gesturing to the seat, his expression thin-lipped and curt. 

Sandy frowned and pattered over, keeping his eyes on the tall grey man as if expecting to be bitten. A simple blue-ish grey platter with a similarly plain ceramic mug sat on the table top. A tarnished fork sat neatly to one side on an old, frayed, but clean napkin. 

The food though... 

There was a large platter 4 obscene looking black sausages, piled high with an unfamiliar, thinly cut rare meat with black rinds. A half loaf of dubiously dark bread, and a crock of quivering black jam, a bowl of glistening black fruit and pitcher of dark steaming tea. 

Sandy just stared for a few moments. He swallowed. Picking up the fork delicately, he arranged his napkin in his lap and smoothed it out neatly. He clutched the fork in his hand like a lifeline, not exactly sure what he was supposed to do with the weird, funerary meal in front of front of him. Pitch glared at him, noticing his hesitance. He jabbed a finger at each food as if trying to skewer them with it. 

"Black pudding. Black Forest ham. Pumpernickel bread, fresh black berries and plum jam, and black currant tea." 

Sandy nodded slightly, poking the fork at one of the startling sausages. Pitch dropped into the seat across from him and continued to frown, staring down at his elegant hands, picking at a nail and generally ignoring Sandy with vehemence. 

"There's black coffee as well if you prefer" Pitch sneered. When he looked up again, Sandy's shoulders were hunched and shaking. His deep golden eyes were scrunched up, his nose wrinkled, face red. For a terrified moment, Pitch was sure he was choking. Or sobbing. Or both. _Goddamned hormonal little snipe! ___

It was then that he realized what it was: The Sandman was trying hard not to laugh. 

Pitch's anger flared up. "Well I'm so sorry if my foraging skills are not up to par, Lord High Protector, but you’re going to have to get used to this! I take what I find and I refuse to treat you like some kind of delicate flower! This is a business transaction, after all. ” He groused, “I suppose you don't even want the black forest cake..!" 

That did it. Sandy's hand flew to his mouth and he shook with silent, uncontrollable mirth. He set his head down on one arm, slapping his little hand on the table. As he did so, Pitch noticed tiny whizzing pops and crackles of golden sand springing up above the Sandman's head and blooming like miniature fireworks, spinning drunkenly, exploding in bursts. 

Pitch's snarl did what it could to hold on, but the corners of his own mouth crept up in a smile. A wheezing little laugh eeked out, which only seemed to tickle Sandy harder. Pitch found himself watching the dream guardian, tracking the luminous grains of sand as they slowly tumbled and fell, finally settling into Sandy’s hair and peppering the wooden table top with tiny pinpoint stars. _”It's quite lovely actually....like dust motes dancing in a shaft of sunlight”_ , Pitch thought to himself. 

Sandy was trying to regain composure, rubbing tears out of his eyes, his cheeks russet. There was absolutely no way that Pitch did not understand the sheer mountain of ridiculous he'd just served for breakfast. Still chuckling, Sandy picked up his fork again and tentatively took a bite of the sausage. After a thoughtful moment chewing, he ate with gusto, making a little heart materialize and beat enthusiastically above. 

Pitch picked up a single blackberry and popped it in his mouth, propping his chin in his hand. Not a word more was shared. By the end of the meal, Sandy had polished off the most of the ham and the sausages and the majority of the bread and jam. He had a silly sated smile on his face, and sighed happily. Pitch stood, and with a whisk of his hand the remainder of the meal and the crockery simply vanished into shadow. Pitch turned to leave, but paused a moment, casting a furtive look behind him with what could have been a smile before stealing into the dark. 

Sandy watched him leave, head cocked to one side. Perhaps it was just the pleasant haze of his first nice meal in weeks clouding his judgment, but he thought he had seen that smile.


	5. Music and memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is my favorite <3

Chapter 5 - Music and memory

The summer wore on. Being in the presence of the Nightmare King seemed to make the thing in Sandy’s belly more active. When Pitch was near it would turn and struggle, as if it wanted to escape. It was acutely terrifying, and he had to will himself not to panic on several occasions. It also seemed that in only a few short weeks it had doubled in size. Sandy himself was very small to begin with, and the additional cargo really had nowhere to go but out, so he had grown from his normal roly-poly self into an ungainly weather balloon in golden pajamas. That coupled with the stifling heat made any kind of comfort practically nil. He would have thought being in almost absolute dark would mean at least some respite from the summer, but Pitch had told him at some point that the forest fire that wiped out the woodlands above had been raging for years, and that kind of heat liked to crawl down into the very bowels of the world. 

Sandy sighed, arching his back and trying to get comfortable, waiting for evening so that he could go to the mountains to send his dreams. He had to sit up as straight as he could just to be able to see over the hill of his belly, where his passenger slept fitfully. Why hadn't anyone warned him of how hard this was going to be?! Over the course of this trial, women had been exalted to a near godlike status in his mind; he reminded himself daily to be especially gracious the next time he ran into one. Miserably he willed the sprite to quiet down, to go to sleep and allow him the same courtesy, but it rewarded his entreaties with an excitable barrel roll. He rolled his eyes and power frowned, letting his head bow forward in surrender. 

“It’s misbehaving...” 

He jumped a bit at Pitch’s appearance. He was so good at sneaking up on people... 

The Nightmare King strode up behind the Sandman and watched him pointedly. They were the eyes of a predator, of a prospector deep in a mine, searching for gems. Sandy still had very little contact with the Boogeyman, other than meals and his nightly forays to the mountains, but he noticed a marked change in how Pitch was treating the brood. He was watching it carefully, as if measuring its progress, tracking its development, and all the while ignoring the body who was carrying it. Pitch was looking at him in that manner at that moment, scrutinizing the considerable bump under Sandy’s robe. 

“Let me see it.” Pitch commanded. 

Sandy shrunk back. The idea of Pitch putting his hands on him sent little waves of revulsion up his spine. He shot Pitch the image of an’ X’... _That won’t be necessary, thank you... ___

Pitch had already kneeled down, fixed on the nightmare-brood. He parted the folds of Sandy’s robe ever so slightly, eliciting a horror struck glare from the guardian, but he did not pay it any mind. Sandy was about to unleash a barrage of hurtful sand-spite and vexatious silent cursing until Pitch spread his fingers across Sandy’s midriff, flexing his hand ever so slightly. The cold pad of his palm was remarkably smooth, and the delicious relief against the heat pulled the little sandman under a spell of cool shadows. 

Pitch’s eyes were distant, looking straight through the sandman, past the years and the ages. 

“I have memories of times like this...” A sarcastic smirk lit up on his lips for a moment. “Maybe your Toothfairy would give me a hand in remembering, since you’re her friend after all.” 

As light as the touch of a dandelion seed, he pushed on Sandy’s stomach, the sprite inside moving against his hand as if to inspect it. Sandy grimaced at the disorienting feeling. Pitch moved his hand away, and instead stroked him ever so gently, his soft cool hand like silk pajamas on bare skin. Sandy squirmed, torn between enjoying the exquisite sensation and loathing Pitch as being the one to provide it. Pitch spoke again, and his voice was a murmur. 

“Long long ago there was a lady I knew. She bore a child, a Golden Age child, of course, so things were much easier back then...but I remember her while she carried that baby. She was much taller than you, not as...” He almost sneered the next word, “...soft. But she had much the same troubles. When the child would not quiet down she would sing to it.” 

Sandy huffed. Of course it would be singing. He could not even whistle. Shrugging out from under Pitch’s hand (and his spell), he very carefully lifted himself up and turned to leave, tossing him a vague gesture of thanks. At least in one of the lower chamber rooms it would possibly be cooler, and stretching out on the tile floor was sounding incredibly tempting. 

He could hear Pitch rummaging in some dark shadows behind him, followed by a sound that could occasionally ( when no one was looking of course, and he was feeling somewhat more nostalgic perhaps, or maybe just drunk) move him to tears. 

Pitch was tuning an instrument. 

Despite himself, Sandy pattered over just to see the low light playing off the elegant dark lacquer. The nightmare king sat with his back to Sandy, hunched over a simple instrument. It was a guitar, very old by the look of it, but carefully preserved. It was made of a dark satiny wood, with a mother of pearl inlay. Pitch strummed a few chords, flexed his gaunt fingers and began to play softly. Sandy was transfixed. He stood, the sound of that old guitar seeming to emanate from the walls, resonating to the very grains of his body. He had always loved music, always felt a glow of pride when he could hear a faint melody played somewhere below, wondering if the thing had taken its first tentative steps within the ethereal boundaries of a dream. Without bidding it, he could feel that his face had melted into a wide syrupy grin, as his ears strained to take in all of Pitch’s voice, low and velvety, barely audible over the guitar. 

> _I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls, with vassals and serfs at my side_  
>  And of all who assembled within those walls,  
> that I was the hope and the pride.  
> I had riches all too great to count, and a high ancestral name,  
> but I also dreamt which pleased me most,  
> that you loved me still the same 

The song and the singer continued, a rolling wind across a distant field. Sandy's eyes closed, and he felt a luscious vertigo of longing, the kind that only came from hearing certain chord progressions, certain notes dancing in just the right time. Occasionally his heart would beat with the strum of the guitar, and the resulting synchronicity would take his breath. 

The last note settled slowly, and the world seemed to shift back into focus. Pitch was gone, but the guitar lay in the chair. 

It took several moments for Sandy to come down from the gentle high, and when he did he noticed that the perturbed rumblings in his body had stopped; it had finally gone to sleep. He breathed a deep sigh of relief and stretched tentatively. Above, he could see that the clouds were beginning to deepen and blush - night was coming. With the greatest of care not to disturb his precious cargo, he drifted down the corridor to his chamber, head and heart strangely swimming as if intoxicated. When evening fell, Sandy went to the mountains to spin his dreams, but he hardly noticed as he did so, the music still filled his soul and drove him to distraction. Each note seemed to be seared into his memory, even the thought of Pitch, bent over the guitar in a quiet reverie, brought an ache to his heart that was equal parts bitterness and yearning. _How is it that someone so awful, so dark and cruel and just...wrong...can make something so beautiful?_

By the evening’s end, his face still felt warm and flushed. 

\----- 

A little girl was deep in slumber. She was having such a beautiful dream, about knights and castles and a great, dark king. The king was not bad, he was not even frightening, but his voice was so strong and it could be heard from all over the kingdom, and the children would stop even the most rambunctious games to listen when he sang. He had the love of all his subject, even the moon and the sun and the night sky...


	6. To understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Phaelsafe!!!!!!

Chapter 6 - To understand

(Author’s note: the following chapter is written by the incomparable Phaelsafe! Thank you so much, bby!) 

_It coils into him — warm, hot, scorching — spreading wildfire up through his veins as the cool touch slides across his shoulders, one hand cupping his neck and the other gliding down,down, down his spine...._

Sandy snaps awake with a gasp. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but the dreams — he shakes his head, trying to will away the hot flush that had spread across his skin. For some reason he's in a bed... Pitch's bed? _And where are his robes?_

"Have a bad dream?" 

Heat from said dream splinters into reality and prickles along his skin, the velvet dark voice sending a shudder through him. He rubs his hands over his face, trying to scrub away the images that stubbornly refuse to fade from his mind. 

The nightmare king steps away from the doorway where he'd cloaked himself with shadows. He sneers as he approaches. "You exhausted yourself spinning those dreams." Sandy clutches the sheets to him and does his best to ignore Pitch. 

"Oh, please. Who else do you think undressed you?" Pitch says with a roll of his eyes. He leans over until their faces are level and points an accusing finger at the sandman. "You need to be more careful how you—" 

A chaotic cloud of shimmering gold seethes above Sandy's head. He lashes out, grabbing Pitch's wrist with the intention of shoving the other man away, but the moment his fingers close around the grey wrist, electricity surges between them, dredging his dream right to the forefront of his thoughts again. 

Pitch snatches his arm away, and he staggers back with a horrified expression upon his face as though he— a knowing smile curls his lips. "Not such a bad dream after all. Well, I guess it depends on how you look at it, but what is up with that, Sandman?" 

Glaring up at Pitch, Sandy crosses his arms over his chest and huffs and raises a brow. When Pitch stares blankly back, the guardian's scowl deepens, and he drops the sheet to gesture at his belly. 

Pitch snorts, then chuckles, a low rolling sound that vibrates along Sandy's nerves. He pulls the sheet back around himself. 

"You don't get to blame _hormones_ because you aren't _human_...." 

Both of Sandy's eyebrows fly up this time, and the cloth falls around his waist again as he exaggerates a shrug. There's nothing normal about this situation at all.


	7. Tides

Chapter 7 - Tides

Sandy started to notice changes outside along with those within him. 

For a start, his surroundings slowly became more comfortable. As he drifted back to his quarters one afternoon, he noticed a small door next to his chamber that had definitely not been there before. The door was ajar, and he could hear a familiar noise; a drippy faucet. Curiosity nudged him hard and he nosed around the door, smiling with delight when he saw the round, narrow room with a high ceiling. The walls were shiny black brick, and a faint light filtered in from high above. This was not the reason for his smile however; in the center of the room was a boat sized white porcelain clawfoot tub. _A proper bath! With running water and soap and everything!_ For the past few months he had been making due with a basin and pitcher, feeling somewhat rustic and primitive indeed, so this was a treat beyond measure. Sandy wriggled with delight and practically danced to the tub, peeking over the high sloped rim and resting his cheek against the cool porcelain. It seemed to be fully loaded as well. Hanging in a caddy on the side was an impressive collection of scented soaps, loofah sponges, strange pumice stones and bottles of toiletries in languages that indicated they were expensive. _Pitch really likes his froo-froo stuff..._ Sandy snickered, setting down a bottle of lavender lilac rose savon magnifique. Either way, froo-froo beggers could not be choosers, and he was excited to take that gargantuan clawfoot tub for a spin. After a few moments of confusion over the antique taps, he drew a warm bath, complete with some strange French-something-or-other sounding bubble soap. He hoisted himself over the edge of the tub and stepped into the perfumed water. It was pure bliss. Taking a deep breath, he sunk under the sudsy glacier like the Titanic. Something nudged him in rudely in a spot he would have preferred not to be nudged in, and he fished around under the water to find a yellow rubber duck. Pitch had spared no expense, apparently. He gave the duck a squeak and relaxed, letting his mind wander aimlessly, humming in his own, offtune, silent way. 

Half an hour later he floated back to his chamber with his hair still damp to find his room ransacked. Blinking in confusion, he looked around the room with a slow dawning delight. The bed had been replaced. Instead of the simple rusting cot there was a large wooden 4 poster bed. Of course, it was very old and had seen better days, as it was with everything in the nightmare realm, but still it was a decided improvement. He pattered over and smoothed down the duvet, delighted to find that it was actually new and freshly laundered, almost as nice as those on the bed he had found himself in when Pitch....A blush bloomed across his cheeks. 

_Best not to think about Pitch’s bed. ___

Pushing the thought aside, he hopped up and lay down tentatively. The mattress was also old, evidenced by its creaky complaining and general lumpiness, but had been beaten until it was soft. On the Mansnoozie Comfort Scale (tm) it rated a 7...Just above a pillow of star moss, but below a cushion made from down of the wing of a Himalayan Goose. He smiled and rolled in the bed playfully, squishing his face into the copious pillows at the headboard. _What do you think, little dreamling? First our own bath, now a comfortable bed- We must have been rewarded for good behavior..._

As he cavorted in his cushy new nest, he discovered the last surprise. He spied a little sliver of light on the floor. He stopped short and hopped down, following the shaft of sunlight to a dark, faded square of curtain. Pulling it aside, glorious morning light streamed in, causing his eyes to water. A little round window had been cut out of the solid rock walls and he had a view facing out over a sleepy green valley. He knew the nightmare realm to be miles below the earth’s surface, and he was baffled as to how the little window could exist, but the warm sunlight was so rich and mellow on his skin that he did not bother to ponder it long. He pushed himself onto the sill and mashed his face against the bars, breathing in the green scent of the trees and the river that snaked through the valley down below. He was outside every evening, yes, but the mountains were smoky and grey, and the haze never lifted. Here was real sun, real clean air, freedom from the stifling layers of dust and soot of the nightmare realm. He stretched his arms out, wiggling his fingers and watching the sun make the delicate thin skin of his hand glow. 

Pitch watched him from the shadows beyond the chamber. What he saw was a ridiculously round Sandman crammed in a tiny window, attempting to squeeze himself through an opening the width of a playing card. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

”I see you’ve discovered the window.” He quipped. 

Sandy turned to the door, nodding enthusiastically. He dropped out of the window and drifted over to Pitch, wearing an expectant smile. Suddenly, he began to chatter at him, showing him visions of suns and trees and open spaces full of clouds, wide plains and little quaint parks. He gesticulated wildly, pointing outside. 

Pitch crossed his arms and sighed. “I deciphered about a fraction of that travesty, but your point is clear enough...You want to go out for walkies, is that it?” 

Sandy narrowed his eyes. Pitch’s shins were right there in front of him. Ripe for kicking... 

”I suppose we can arrange that” 

Sandy paused, mid aim. Had he heard that right? He looked up at the taller man but Pitch was already turning on his heels and disappearing out the door. “We have 4 hours. Think of one place and I will allow you to see it. I’ll wait for you in the foyer.” 

Sandy’s mouth gaped. He made a little silent whoop of joy and pattered out after Pitch. He didn't need to think: He knew exactly where he wanted to go. 

\----- 

Sandy floated on his back, the red sun still bright behind the curtain of his closed eyelids. The air smelled of salt and suntan oil, the waves lapping the shore the only sound. When Sandy had imagined the little island in the Carribbean sea, Pitch had looked horrorstruck, but true to his word, moments later they were on an abandoned stretch of beach, the only souls besides a couple who seemed far too interested in each other to give a slender dark figure and his pudgy companion any mind. 

Pitch instantly retreated to the shade of a seagrape tree, and Sandy could practically hear him hiss with distaste as he curled in on himself, inching away from the hot sun. Sandy however took one look at the bluegreen water and bolted for it. Pitch watched him dive in, expecting to see the aurelian guardian paddle and bob like a beach ball. He was caught off guard when Sandy ducked his head under and swam like a golden otter, surfacing many yards away and disappearing again in a swirl of sea foam. They stayed in their respective spots, the Nightmare King lording over his dry patch of sand in the shadows, and the Dream Guardian splashing in the waves for a good hour or so. 

Finally, Sandy hauled himself out of the water, hair plastered down on his face, enjoying the rush of exuberance from the burst of wholesome physical activity. He lay down carefully in the sand, accommodating the sprite first and then stretching out to dry in the sun. He watched the clouds race by high above, and shivered slightly in the wind. Pitch did not move from his spot, but called to him. 

”Get out of that wet robe. I don’t know what possessed you to even swim in it; no one on this beach can see you.” 

Sandy made no effort to move. _YOU can see me._

He made an image of Pitch hiding behind a bush with a pair of binoculars, salivating like a dog. 

Pitch repeated himself, his tone taking a sharp edge, and added, “If you get sick, she’s going to be the one to suffer. Besides. I thought you wanted the sun. That vitamin D or whatever it is people go on about. Go on then. I won’t look.” He taunted. 

Sandy huffed. The clinging wet robe was uncomfortable, and the trapped salt water made his skin itch - plus, a little sun would have been heavenly. However, he did not want to give Pitch the satisfaction of a battle won. Rolling upright, he faced Pitch and crossed his arms. _Fine. You first_ said Sandy's petulant frown. 

Pitch made a dismissive noise as he undid a clasp on his robe. “Pft. Sandman, please don’t flatter yourself. I’ve seen you. You’ve got very little to worry about.” 

Sandy blanched. Stung, he sent Pitch an image of a skinny, strangled, plucked chicken. _How do you like them apples, Nightmare King?! ___

Pitch only laughed as he shrugged out of his black robe, his muscles rolling and tensing under the skin as he moved. He tossed a glance at Sandman, a narrow eyed look of superiority on his face. The way Pitch shucked his robes like a python shimmying out of its skin seemed as though he was very well accustomed to having an ‘audience’, and Sandy remembered tales of dark creatures, incubi, succubi, and other such monsters who delighted in salacious conquests - Probably, those were also Pitch’s idea of fun. Pitch retreated farther into the shade of the sea grape, now bare to his waist. Sandy shook his head and slowly struggled out of his own robe, holding the wet bundle to his chest like a security blanket. He tried to shoot Pitch a picture of a show-pony, prancing and displaying, but he suddenly felt cold. 

As his eyes flicked over Pitch’s lean body, he saw what the thought was a dusting of sand clinging to his back. He realized that it was only partially true. He moved to Pitch’s side, his eyes penitent and full of deep remorse. Crisscrossing Pitch’s lower back were long, pale gashes of rough scar tissue. They were very deep, and by the look of it the cuts had healed badly, probably causing a lot of pain when they had done so. They were the tell tale marks left from a whip. _His whip __._

He reached out tentatively, his hand trembling. Pitch noticed it and shied away, eyes full of suspicion. 

"Old scars from an old enemy, Sandman.” He said dully. 

Sandy’s heart lurched. Without bidding it, he imagined Pitch alone in his dark lair, unable to heal those festering wounds, with no one to clean the burning grains of gold as they burrowed into his skin. Of course, during that fated spring battle Sandy had been pushed to react in self defense. Pitch had wanted Sandman dead and visa versa, but still - ’dead’ and ‘suffering’ were two very distinct things. In the heat of the battle, Sandy had not seen the damage those halcyon whips had caused. They had torn flesh from bone. 

He shuffled around to Pitch’s back, and very gently touched one of the scars. Pitch did not react. 

"As I said. They are old wounds. Pain doesn’t frighten me.” 

Sandy let his hands fall, feeling impotent. He sank to the sand, listening to the sound of the waves, but feeling no comfort from them. 

Pitch stared out over the ocean, still as a statue. 

Sandy suddenly had a clear memory of his fellow guardians, especially Bunny, with his bruiser’s body and brawler’s temper. Bunny was an expert at overexertion, and would often work himself until he was exhausted, sore, and grouchy. Times like that that required a little more than relaxing herbal teas, and Sandy had learned a trick that could make the giant rabbit melt under his expert hands. 

“Sandy you’re a dream, you’re a gem, you’re a magic worker...” Bunny would say. 

The Sandman may not have been able to take back the damage, but he could at least do this little kindness. Sandy cracked his knuckles and shyly scooted over behind Pitch. He reached up to the narrow plane of Pitch's shoulders, and began to methodically rub and knead, like a baker preparing bread dough. 

Pitch froze and threw an acrid glare over his shoulder at Sandy. "What the hell do you think are you doing?" he snapped, sitting up suddenly, but his protests petered out. Sandy frowned. Pitch's shoulders were knotted like a sloppy sailor's rope, but Sandy had practice. His little hands were very strong and clever, and the subtle movements of dreamspinning leant themselves to all sorts of helpful talents. 

Pitch flexed his shoulders, sinking down a little lower so that Sandy would have better leverage. 

"You are actually quite skilled at this.” He murmured, tilting his head up slightly, eyes closed. Sandy smiled. Pitch reminded him of a jungle cat. Sandy expected him to start purring and kneading the air at any second, and that image made him laugh, dusting them both with dreamsand. He continued to work his magic, leaning into Pitch as far as his belly would allow, shying away when his bare skin made contact against Pitch's back. Pitch did not seem to notice or even recoil from those touches. 

Eventually, his hands tired and he withdrew them from the Nightmare king's back. Pitch blinked, the spell broken, and stretched his arms out. 

"I'm not exactly sure what that was for...but...thank you none the less. You have quite a future ahead of you should you decide to be a concubine." Sandy sucked in a breath, then deflated. Barbed as it was, that was a compliment. A Nightmare King compliment. Sandy lifted himself with considerable difficulty, hands braced against his lower back, and sat to rest in the sun just outside of the seagrape's shade. He turned his face upwards like a flower, letting months of his own tension melt under the island's warm skies. 

Sandy eventually drifted off to sleep, and he did not notice Pitch sidling up next to him, still in the ring of shadow. Sandy shifted, feeling a light touch at the base of his neck. Pitch's fingers were gently curled in a lock of Sandy's blonde hair, as if he had been stroking it gently as he fell asleep. Sandy rolled over, looking at the granite of Pitch's hand, absentmindedly reaching out one finger and stroking the inside of Pitch's wrist, feeling the tendons and the light pulse beneath. He blinked when he realized what he was doing, and sat up. Pitch sighed in his sleep and withdrew his hand, rolling over and curling up on his side. Sandy yawned and rubbed his eyes, feeling light headed. He retreated to the shade, and was about to hollow out a little patch to continue his nap in when he heard a noise. 

Sandy's eyes widened. He knew that sound very well, a sound like the drone of a swarm of insects or a giant bird...A humming bird. Toothiana. 

For a few euphoric seconds, relief and joy innundated him. She could rescue him, help take him home! He struggled to sit up and felt the heavy weight of the wish in his lap, and his heart stammered nervously. Awful short term memory. He turned to Pitch. If she saw him there... 

High above, Toothiana was tiring. She had been scanning the coast of South America, specifically the ABC islands. She had just finished Bonaire when she zeroed in on the soft sandy shores of Aruba. It was as good a place as any to rest, perhaps wait out the high hot noonday sun. She spied a lush seagrape tree and went to alight beneath it. That was when she saw activity, and figured it was probably a pair of humans, efinitely not something that she wanted to interrupt- except that in the kerfuffle she saw a twinkling of brilliance...A dash of gold. 

"Sandy?!" 

She folded her wings and dove towards the shore, her pulse pounding in her ears, daring to hope for such a lucky coincidence. 

Sandy watched as a dagger of emerald fell from the sky, just stopping and flashing its irridescent wings before it plummeted towards the ocean. Sandy tripped over his robes, and pushed Pitch further back into the darkness of the seagrape. Pitch, who only seconds before had been fast asleep, grumbled and slapped at Sandy's insistant hands. 

"Stop it. I don't wake you up when you snore, I should think you would give me the same courtesy," He snapped. 

Sandy cursed and grabbed for his robes, half hopping, half tugging the still damp and clingy garments up over his knees. _No time!_. He limped to the shore, hoping that Pitch would stay asleep...Perhaps he could stall her long enough and he would escape into the shadows. 

They met at the shoreline. Tooth screamed and bowled into the Sandman, wrapping him in a fierce, feathery hug. She took Sandy's face in her hands and kissed him dozens of times, ignoring Sandy's silent entreaties to be gentle, to take it easy. She asked him a stream of half formed questions, most lost in the desperate whir of her wings and the frantic display of affection. He pried himself out of her grasp for just a second, panting, and then saw her embarassed, flushed look. In his haste he had not bothered to finish dressing, and he was nude except for his feet, modestly draped in his pajamas. He flustered and tugged them up over his hips, swallowing hard. 

Tooth smiled, laughing as she looked away, "I am surprised they fit you, Sandy...you look ready to pop..." 

Sandy hid his face in his palms. Awkward. 

Tooth could not keep her composure for long, as soon as he was half dressed she rushed to him and took his face in her hands again, searching his eyes for the truth. "Are you...alright? I know it's not easy for you...I can't even imagine what this is like but please....please don't dissappear like this...come back with me to the warren, we're all so sorry. It was stupid of us to doubt you and blame you, just please, come back with me." She stammered, eyes shining. 

Sandy sighed. He would have to lie to her, and do it well. Her desperation was palpable, and he realized that it was probably the others were just as sick with worry. 

He smiled brazenly, and took her hands from off his face. He sent her a picture of himself working, seemingly happy, full of vigor and strength. He formed an image of a heart beating, and a clock slowly counting down. _Feeling good. Not long now, I'll come back very soon, I promise._

It was not what Tooth wanted to hear. She shook her head. "Sandy, no. I understand...and you look good, all things considered...We've seen the dreams we know they're still coming...but please just come back with me, let the others know that you're ok! We can do take two of the party! We dont have to tell any one, not Mim, not the Lamas, it doesnt matter...We'll do whatever you want!" 

Sandy took another step back. He continued to smile, but the strain was starting to make his face itch. He shook his head again, But Tooth's anguish tugged at his heart. "Sandy Idon't want to force you, but this is crazy, can you please give me one reason why you won't come back with me!? Please! Just one good reason!" 

"Because he does't want to," Said a velvety voice. 

"And if his happiness actually matters to you, as opposed to you just wanting to control him, I see no reason why that response should displease you." 

Tooth gasped and zeroed in on the Nightmare King's strange eyes glinting in the half dark of the seagrape. Sandy sucked in a sharp breath, mostly of surprise, but also... _Pitch was defending him?_

He didnt have time to think about it much, as Tooth made a savage snarl and brandished her swords. She shouldered Sandy aside and flew at Pitch like an arrow, but he was ready, a demented grin stretched across his face. Raising his arms to strike, his scythe materialized, and he sliced at her with all his might, sending Tooth darting backwards for only a second as she shot up above him, intending to strike from the air. 

Sandy waved his arms madly. _Stupid man, why antagonize her?_ She had the advantage and she would slaughter him without a second thought. Tooth darted at Pitch again, and this time she landed a blow before he parried her away; a black gash opened across Pitch's shoulder, dripping tar dark blood onto the sand. Pitch screamed and grabbed at the wound, the scythe vanishing. Pitch panted, his body trembling. The intense sun diminished his power, and with only a small pool of shadow, he was unable to draw from their strength to fight. Still, he had the strength to antagonize his age old enemy. He looked up and spat at Tooth angrily. "Why don't you just flit away, little fairy. He already said he wanted to be left alone...Unless you want him to be a single mother." He laughed, loving the white hot look of hate on Tooth's face as the words left his mouth. 

Tooth's face was a hard, narrow mask. Baring her teeth she charged at Pitch, aiming for his dark heart. Pitch saw only deep gem green and the flash of the too hot sun off steel. He closed his eyes and waited. Something yanked hard on his ankles, and he was drug backwards, while at the same time Tooth was violently pushed off course, sending her spinning to the damp sand at the shore. When they both recovered, they saw Sandy standing several paces away, a burst of dreamsand blocking Tooth's path. He was scowling, shaking his head slowly. 

"Sandy, look out..." She started, coughing and brushing sand off of her face. Her eyes darted to Pitch, and she noticed a thin line of gold, not a whip so much as a life line, wrapped around him and pulling him to safety. 

She looked at her little friend's filled frame, his pained, determined expression, and suddenly the pieces fit in place neatly. 

"It's Pitch's baby." She whispered. 

Sandy closed his eyes and nodded slightly. Tooth muffled a little scream. "Sandy no. That's crazy. This isn't right! How in heaven's name did this happen?!" 

Sandy took a step towards her, but did not allow the sandcloud which blocked her sword's path to dissapate. He conjured up an abbreviated show of the same images that he had shown Pitch those many months ago, careful to leave out anything concerning Pitch's daughter. She watched them all in silence. 

Tooth was shaking her head, her face reddening. "I don't believe this. Sandy, he tried to kill you, he tried to kill all of us! Don't you remember all those terrified children? The swarms of nightmares?! You don't owe him a damned thing! This has to be a trick!" She tightened her grip on her swords and tried to dart around the sandcloud, but Sandy tracked her movements. "I know you _think_ you mean well, but this is going to end badly...Bunny was right...You don't even know what this is! What if it ends up being another monster, another Pitch?!" 

Sandy's eyes darkened. _No_ , he shot at her, shaking his head. He had lived with this little dreamling inside long enough to know that she would cause no harm. This was exactly why he had refused to go to the Lamas in the first place. 

"How can you do this? How can you choose this THING over us?! How has he brainwashed you?! PITCH! Stop hiding behind my friend and explain yourself!" 

Pitch looked up, eyes full of a keen pointed rage. "Don't be asinine. Can't you see it's nothing to do with you or me? He came to me of his own accord! He's made his choice. I suggest you live with it, guardian." His voice had an edge of triumph. 

Sandy moaned inside. _What the hell were they doing?!_ He had to stop this somehow...they would destroy each other, and then the others would come, and gods knew what would happen then. Wringing his hands, he took a tentative step towards them, when a pain like a hot knife jabbed him in the side. The nightmare brood squirmed, spasming inside as if it had awoken with a start. Sandy gasped and stumbled, his dreamsand dissapated instantly. Both Pitch and Tooth stiffened. "What's wrong?" They asked in unison, forgetting their deadlock and moving towards Sandy in concern. 

Pitch got there first, and folded around Sandy protectively, sheilding him with his body. He spoke in a low, dangerous growl. "Go. Leave him. This stress is dangerous for him, and I will tear you apart before I see you harm even a single hair on his head." Pitch hissed, panting hard and gripping at his shoulder. 

Tooth's beautiful feathers stood on end. Sandy could tell she was calculating the risks of striking again, tearing her little guardian friend from the clutches of the Nightmare king. Sandy shook his head, eyes imploring. 

"You're actually going to go through with this. This is what you really want." She whispered, her voice thick. 

Sandy sighed. He could not explain why it was that he felt compelled to stick up for Pitch. She did not know Sandy's past before he had become a guardian, because she had become one so long after he had, and he had never found a way to explain. Although he cherished her no less, he knew that the distance between their experiences was insurmountable. 

_But try not to fool yourself, Sandman. There's something else there too, something you're afraid to admit to yourself..._

Standing up, one arm supporting his precious cargo, he walked to Tooth's side and took her hand. He held it for a long time and looked her in the eye. _Please go._

Tooth looked at him hard. "How could you." She whispered. She dropped his hand and turned to stare at Pitch. When she spoke, the regal voice of the queen of the Realm of Memory addressed Pitch as if he was an insect, a plague. "Nightmare King. I trust and love The Guardian of Dreams beyond what your withered heart could ever understand, and that is the only reason I leave him now, knowing that even weak, he could destroy you if he wanted to. But that wound is only a little taste of what we'll do to you if you take him from us a second time. Be warned, we are watching." She looked at Sandy one last time, eyes full of hurt, and took to the sky. They watched her until she was just a glittering spec on the distance. 

Sandy turned back to Pitch, feeling drained. Pitch was lying on his side, his dark blood staining the sand beneath him. Alarmed, Sandy sat next to him and took the hem of the tunic he wore under his robe and tore it in half, wrapping Pitch's shoulder to staunch the bleeding. What a bloody fiasco. Pitch's face was pale, his eyelids fluttering. 

"Your 4 hours are up, Sandman. We're leaving. " He grabbed hold of Sandy, and suddenly they plunged into shadow. 

Back in the shadow realm, Pitch called for his servants. Sandy argued with him to be allowed to assist in nursing his injured shoulder, but Pitch would have none of it. "You need to rest. Go and clean yourself up. The fearlings will have your dinner waiting for you." 

With that, Pitch and the attending shadows disappeared, leaving Sandy alone in the dark, feeling responsible for the entire day's misfortunes. He trudged back to his chamber and curled up on his new bed, his head swimming, feeling both full of guilt and anger. How could she possibly think that she had anything to gain from attacking Pitch? And why on earth had Pitch risked his life instead of dissapearing? 

There was a quiet sound, the whisper of a robe. A soft hand reached down and stoked his head, a protective, soothing move. 

"Sit up, Sandman." Pitch said, holding out a hand. The other arm had been bandaged and he held at an awkward angle from his body. Sandy sat up obligingly. 

The Nightmare King moved down and encircled Sandy, as if to embrace him. When he withdrew, a shard of black with a strange silvery handle, about as long as his index finger, lay against Sandy's chest. Sandy picked it up by the black silk cord and stared at it, looking up at Pitch with confusion. "A wormblade. The knife is obsidian, the hilt is lead. If you were to sink this into an aggressor's body, the blade would crawl to their heart in moments. If anyone tries to attack you, you may not be as capable of defending yourself...and the brood." 

Pitch sat there for a few moments, the beat settling on them heavily. 

"You still have many hours until the sun sets. You should sleep. I will send a nightmare to wake you once night falls." 

Sandy reached out for Pitch, but he had already gone. Sandy rested his hand on the dagger. Although Pitch had not stated it, the implication was clear. If the guardians returned, Pitch expected him to be prepared to kill to protect the infant. Sandy curled up under the duvet, arms wrapped around the dreamling, feeling the flutter and shift of his burden. In his head, he felt as if he had already tried to kill someone, but he wasn't quite sure who was the victim.


	8. Touch

Chapter 8 - Touch

A month passed quietly. No guardian retribution came, and Sandy thought that surely it must mean that his friends were either angry with him, or they had abandoned his cause. He almost welcomed the latter. It was what he deserved, for the guardians to forget about him; he had turned his back on them, afterall. He tried to push the memory of Tooth's betrayed, hurt face to the farthest corner of his mind, to let it fester in the dark. He simply could not bear that weight in addition to all the excess tonnage that pressed down on him; he would find a way to make it up to them- even if they never accepted him again. 

That same fight however, seemed to have an unusual effect on Pitch. He became more present, more delicate with Sandy, more attentive. Almost affectionate. Clearly he was afraid for the spirit, and had decided to take a more direct approach to protecting it. The attention was welcomed, but Sandy had become damned tired. 

The nightmare brood had grown considerably, filling up every spare nook and cranny in his body. He often had to rest in awkward, uncomfortable positions simply to accommodate the dreamling. A foot jammed in a kidney or an elbow in his diaphragm was a common occurrence those days, and Sandy felt that he was at his very limit; stretched thin like an old rubber band. The novelty had worn off, so to speak. Although he still marveled at the little bundle who responded to his touch and movement, he had also learned how unpleasant it was to be someone’s personal bouncy castle. There were other disadvantages to shooting star 'motherhood'. To his intense disappointment, he could no longer float. Perhaps it was the lack of energy, or the sprite needing every spare bit of his own magic, but he was grounded as surely as a flightless bird. That brought all sorts of unpleasant complications the likes of which he could not have forseen- every inch of his body was either tender, sore, or in pain. His back was constantly plagued with a dull, throbbing ache and his feet yelped under his weight. He could not reach anything if it was within bumping radius of his immense belly, and his robes had long since given up the fight and several buttons staunchly refused to see eye to eye with their button-hole cousins several inches away. 

The grouchier and more taciturn Sandy felt, the more chipper and talkative was Pitch. On one hand, it was good. A happy Pitch was more likely to be sympathetic than a snarky one. He was also more likely to humor any of Sandy's requests. His cravings had become weird, intense and varied, the trade off though was that Sandy would have to endure the Nightmare King’s awful “sense of humor” at his poor, exhausted expense. 

As Sandy rested in a musty chaise lounge one day, stretched out backwards over the arm rest to give the spirit a little more room and himself a break from the kickboxing practice she dutifully performed, Pitch drifted behind him silently and rested his hands on Sandy's belly, rubbing vigorously. 'For good luck' he had said. Pitch had taken to performing the ritual every time he saw him. Sandy admitted that he thought it was cute at first, but it was now skirting the dangerous territory of annoying. 

Sandy did not feel like anyone’s happy little Hotei that day. 

The spirit bounced and cavorted inside of him like a rambunctious puppy, as if in response to her sire's playful teasing. 

_Goddamn Pitch for having given this child such long legs! ...And goddamn himself for being so short! ___

Pitch kneeled at Sandy's side, resting his ear on the curve of Sandy's belly, as if listening. 

“I wonder how much longer this will take” Pitch mused, brushing the taught surface of Sandy's midriff with his fingertips. “It feels as though it has been a very. Very long time...Although who knows with a guardian. It's not as if she has conformed to any other rules. I hear elephants carry their young for 2 years...” 

_2 years!? You had better hope not, Pitch Black. I will murder you before such a thing... ___

Pitch finally noticed Sandy’s rancorous mood and ran a hand through his dark hair.“Oh give it up, Sandy. Next you’ll be sobbing at me and telling me how it’s all my fault and how awful I am for turning you into such a bloated little creampuff” 

Sandy thought up a noose, and cheerfully conjured Pitch hanging in it. It helped him feel much better. 

Pitch rolled his eyes and muttered dryly, “You’re killing me, Sandman. Come on, my little pumpkin.” He gently lifted Sandy under the arms and carried him into one of the antechambers, setting him in a carved high-backed chair and pushing him close to the table. 

“Let’s just have dinner and try to be civilized, shall we?” He left and returned with several plates, arranging them like a haughty maitre’d. Pitch brushed his hands off on his coat and sat opposite the sandman. 

“Bon appetit.” he grumbled, filling his own plate. 

Sandy sighed into the lavish spread in front of him: pâté de foie gras, caviar, quail’s eggs, raw red tuna sashimi. All good yes, but all very...Pitchy food. Pretentious, grandiose, somewhat scary. He heaved another heart rending sigh and Pitch blinked at him, the sashimi on the ends of his chopsticks forgotten. 

"What’s wrong, do you need another pillow?" 

Sandy mooned and pouted. _No! I need...A hamburger! A huge cheese smothered hamburger with pickles and french fries and a chocolate shake and one of those little pies... ___

Sandy’s eyes closed in ecstasy and he buried his face in his hands, swooning as he drew the heart attack inducing delight in his sand pictures. 

Suddenly it was Pitch’s turn to be appalled. “Ugh! you can’t tell me you actually have eaten such a thing! You’ve a millennia of good breeding from the Golden Age and you’re crying over fast food...Well don’t look at me! I’m not braving suburbia just because you’re craving In and Out Burger.” He snapped, spearing an olive with his knife and chewing it aggressively. 

Apparently, Sandy had finally discovered the thing that Pitch would not agree to do. It made him crave the damned cheeseburger even more. 

Sandy balled his little fists up in frustration and pushed his plate away dramatically, turning in his seat, arms crossed. He wanted that cheeseburger, caviar be damned. Making a dismissive gesture he clambered down off the seat, misjudging the distance and slipping, landing on his arse. Pitch was up like a shot, fussing and clucking, gathering him up in a bundle. 

”My gods, Sandman. What are you trying to achieve here? Look if you’re staging a silent protest, you might wait until you’re flying solo again. I doubt that she is appreciative of your little hunger strike...” Sandy swatted away his flippant concern, shooting him a treacherous look. _If you aren't with me, you are against me. Go away_. 

He shoved back against him and twisted out of his grip, waddling back to the chaise, curling up with his back to Pitch. 

Pitch frowned. He had worked hard for that food. It was the finest russian caviar, the most expensive pâté, sashimi from the most celebrated chef in Japan...It was not easy scaring the life out of swarthy grocers and snooty restaurateurs to steal enough to feed that little black hole. As a matter of fact, it wasn't easy keeping up with him _at all_. The Sandman was a fragile boat in the middle of an unfamiliar sea, and Pitch was never quite sure what he needed to do in order to keep that boat from capsizing. He was about to march over and give Sandy a piece of his mind when he sighed. The sight of the little guardian curled up like some kind of sulky pastry loosened a knot in his heart. Suddenly, he didn't _want_ to harass him. He didn't want the sour tang of a well delivered telling-off, he wanted to see that brilliant, mischievous smile; he wanted the Sandman’s coppery blush as he laughed. His mouth hung open, the power of the revelation nearly throwing him off balance. Almost as if in a trance, he dropped into shadow. 

Sandy heard the sound, like moth wings and rain on a windowpane, and turned in time to see Pitch vanish. He bit his bottom lip. Somehow Pitch's disappearance brought an unwelcome lump in his throat. It seemed that spike of emotion was a common occurrence when Pitch would leave him abruptly or he would not see the Nightmare King for days. Somehow, it was affecting him, but he was loathe to admit it, especially to himself. 

He felt, in an odd way, that he was _actually beginning to enjoy Pitch's company_. The Nightmare King had somehow burrowed under his skin, and instead of rejecting him, Sandy embraced his saturnine companionship. Sandy buried his face in a pillow, screaming silently. It had to be the dreamling's fault. There was no way that he could actually feel some kind of connection to this brute. But somehow- 

He caught himself often, watching Pitch with interest, noting the way the Nightmare King moved, like a dancer en pointe. When his mind wandered, sometimes it fixed on the way light pooled on Pitch's brow, hiding his face in shadow, the thin line of his coal dark lips, the shape of his slender back in the shade of the seagrape tree, the shadow-soft touch of his fingers as he greeted the nightmare brood. He could not identify the exact moment it had happened, but he'd stopped shying from Pitch's hand...Indeed even seemed to crave the physical contact, especially when his little dreamling grew restless. 

Sandy's face grew hot. _No. No. NO...Yes. Of course, you fat little fool. Sanderson Mansnoozie...You're...Why you're in..._

"I didn't know what flavor milkshake you wanted, so I got all 3." Pitch was looking down at him with a strange expression, holding two large styrofoam cups in both hands, with a third tucked into the crook of his elbow. "Am I interrupting something? Your power-mope perhaps?" Sandy's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, his mind flopping around like the former out of water. 

Pitch nudged him, holding out a grease stained white bag. "Here then. Have at it. Please try to spare me from your venom. I don't think I could survive another attack." Sandy goggled at the offering in Pitch's hands, his stomach rearing up like a wild beast. He tore open the white paper bag and dug out his hard earned treasure, biting into the cheeseburger and smearing condiments on his cheek like a savage. Smiling, he made an image of Pitch, arms outstretched, a halo around his head. 

Pitch chuckled. "I'm no saint, Sandman. Eat your ridiculous comfort food." 

The Nightmare King smiled his half cocked smile and settled next to Sandy on the chaise, leafing idly through the pages of a book he had tucked into his robe. The little guardian looked up at him as he licked a bit of ketchup off his fingers, nose scrunching up in a silent giggle. Suddenly, he scooted backwards until his back was pressed against the slender curve of Pitch’s chest and stomach. It was funny how exactly they seemed to fit together, how easily The Nightmare King could melt around the Guardian of Dreams, no matter what shape they were in. It made the little guardian’s toes curl. 

_How different would it be if there had never been a moon coming between us? Could you ever have looked at me and thought of me as something worth fighting for instead of against? Could the idea of grey on gold set your heart to hammer and your breath to quicken?_

_It does mine, Nightmare King. ___

“...I SAID, are you in another one of your legendary food comas?” 

Sandy jerked back to reality to see Pitch’s wide silvery eyes staring right into his. He blushed, as if Pitch might have seen his thoughts while he was drifting. Hopefully he hadn’t spelled them out with sand. He shoved a handful of french fries in his mouth simply to give himself something to do, then got a devilish look on his face. He grabbed another fry out of the box and waved it at Pitch. 

“What? No. That greasy bounty is all yours. I don’t want it.” 

Sandy grinned impishly and tried to scale up Pitch’s slender torso, still waving the fry at him. 

”Go away, I don’t need your cholesterol fetish thank you very much...” He was scowling but his voice had ill concealed amusement. Sandy shouldered into him, producing a funny sort of ‘whuuf’ noise from Pitch as he toppled backwards. Sandy straddled his chest and leaned down, smiling maniacally. 

“No! My statuesque physique! Augh, don’t you dare make me tickle you!” 

Sandy popped the offending foodstuff into Pitch’s mouth, eliciting a peal of laughter from the both of them. Pitch’s eyes screwed closed in distaste, “Sandy, this is really and truly horrible...Oh my god, how do you handle this...” He laughed and coughed into his hand, “It’s like eating a grease soaked chunk of shoe...” 

Sandy laughed. _He’s absolutely right...These are pretty horrible..._

They (not so)roughhoused playfully, until Pitch finally begged for mercy, complaining that the Sandman was mussing his hair. Sandy grinned triumphantly, their eyes met, locked, struggled. Pitch broke contact first. 

"Night is coming. If you're ready, we will go to the cage." 

Ever diligent, Sandy nodded, taking Pitch's offered hand down off the chaise. He groaned inwardly, dreading even the short trek to his quarters. Pitch must have noticed, because he playfully nudged him in the small of his back with a toe. 

"Sandman. You know you needn't fight so hard for these human children. One dreamless night will not kill them. Stay where you are. Rest." 

The skin on the nape of Sandy's neck prickled. Although he was currently on the precipice of emotional meltdown concerning his former enemy, his duty remained inscribed in each cell of his body, permanently etched into the back of his eyelids. He turned to Pitch, looking very weary. 

_No, it will not kill them, but it may kill me. ___

Sandy thought about the rolling banks of cloud and the vespers that played across the decks of home. He drew an image of his ship, grand and golden. Pitch's brow furrowed. 

"Sandman, I cannot take you there. It is the only place in the heavens or earth I have never breached." He muttered, almost bitterly. 

Sandy smiled. _Silly King, you forget who I am. ___

Taking Pitch's hand in his own, he towed him into the grand hall of the nightmare realm. 

_I need your help. I can't do this alone ___

He implored. He conjured up a vision of the two of them, hands linked, a cloud of dreamsand between the two. Pitch's breath caught in his throat. 

"Are you sure?" He asked, his feelings of curiosity overriding his concern. Sandy did not respond, only squeezed Pitch's hand. 

Nodding, Pitch inclined his head slightly. A trickle of black seeped out from the shadows around them, pooling at their feet. Nightmaresand, feeding from Sandy's own strength. Sandy closed his eyes, wincing slightly at the feeling that had once nearly dragged him to his death, but now was controlled, tentative, tense. The blacksand crept up his ankle, slid over his side and up to his open palm, where it seemed to probe and tickle into his skin as if curious. Once he felt as though he could control it, Sandy motioned for Pitch to stop the flow and allowed a trickle of his own golden sand to join in the black swirl, until a sizable cloud billowed and swirled at their feet, holding them up like a pillow of gold and obsidian candy floss. 

Pitch looked uncertain, but Sandy only smiled. 

_It will be alright. I'm driving. ___

He could not help himself a tiny jab at the Nightmare King's expense as the cloud rose sharply without warning, knocking Pitch off balance, sending him into pinwheel of limbs. They travelled up, past the entrance to the nightmare realm, past the burning forest, over the heavy grey clouds and into the dusk. It felt so good to be back in the sky, feeling the rush and buoy of the air currents, the clean scent of night air. Within seconds, his ship appeared. 

_Home, so beautiful and comfortable and all mine ___

Pitch stared at the hulking golden ship. He seemed to be fighting a rush of memory, the last remnants of the Golden Age incarnate wrapping him in a nostalgia he could not voice. Sandy maneuvered them over the deck, and they set down with a soft bump. He sat for a moment, pulling back his dreamsand, rubbing the dreamling to ensure that she was alright. She stirred, but seemed to slumber. Fortunate on all accounts. 

Pitch stood rigid and uncomfortable. He seemed very lost and small, in the middle of the golden realm, his eyes darting around as if afraid he would have to leap overboard at any second and abandon ship. Sandy took hold of the hem of his robe, pulling him to the bow of his ship. 

_Welcome to slumberland, Pitch Black __, He laughed._

As the ship drifted, lines of lights began to glow in the darkness below. They looked like the arteries of a luminous beast, indicating where groups of people had gathered and built cities, surrounding themselves with sound and commotion. Sometimes he wondered how it was that humans slept at all, with so much electricity and life burning through them at all hours of the day. He settled down on the deck, and patted the space next to him. Pitch peered over the edge. "That's a long way down, Sandman." He groused. Sandy tugged him over with a curl of dreamsand, and raised an eyebrow. _Scaredy cat __. He felt Pitch scoot closer, as if for security._

Sandy took a deep breath, then raised his little hands up and out, as if worshipping the moon. Then the dreams began. The gorgeous slow spiral of the fuel of human ingenuity, the endless dance of narrative that brought delight and purpose to the hearts of a race of creatures who had lost touch with the language of the world around them. 

_You ask why I would not rest one day...But who would rest one second, one heartbeat when you know how much is at stake. True, the dreams of a child are sweet, small and light. They are sugar in bitter tea, short lived butterflies, but these first tiny dreams are the soil for vast roots. They grow with the child. ___

Sandy had read a book once, and remembered a passage that dizzied him as though he had finally found true love: 

“Listen to me carefully. Sometimes dreams turn into soldiers. They’ll fight your battles and defend your land, but you’ve got to take good care of them. Feed and protect them, give them the attention they deserve. Forget or ignore a dream and the soldier dies. You’ve got to write the thing down as much as you remember and study it till you realize how important it is. And for God’s sake, keep it protected. You’re going to need it again, believe me." * Pitch watched the golden show, mesmerized by the serpentine dance. He felt an ancient hunger, a desperate, starving need to grab those strands and devour them, snuff out their light in his dark throat. Perspiration beaded on his brow, and his knee juddered, but he did not move. Sandy cast him a sideways glance, then without warning, he grabbed Pitch's hand and thrust it into the stream of gold flowing past their faces. Pitch choked out a cry, but something soothed him. The dream. It was a beautiful spring evening, dragonflies skimming a cool pond, frogs that glowed in candy brilliant colors...Then another dream, this one of a hot air balloon, sentient, friendly, lifting him up into a kaleidoscope rain that smelled of iris flowers, and one more, the last. A small, delicate creature, soft, pale and infinitely sweet, ringed in golden pinpoints of light. He smiled up at Pitch from a pool of night, wavering as if he was a candle's flame, or a glowing fish in dark water. Pitch dove into the pool, but instead of icy water, he felt a warm effervescence, billions of tiny bubbles tickling his skin, like bathing in champagne. The golden figure with the dear, earnest face leaned in close and touched his lips to Pitch’s forehead. 

_Fear is essential. We grow when we fear, we learn. We fight. But optimism, imagination, ambition, these things are essential as well. We have our places, you and I. Whether you accept it or not, I believe in you, and your purpose, even if you have strayed from that path occasionally. I hope you can learn to understand, and someday believe in me too. ___

Pitch opened his mouth to respond, but the dream began to change. 

Pitch pulled his hand from the stream, rubbing his fingers together as the gold grains faded. He looked over at the Sandman, but he was lost in his dreamspinning, eyes closed, mouth pursed, absorbed in creation. Pitch did not fully understand the dream. Or rather, he did not want to. He only wanted to remember that beautiful golden figure as he danced in the dark. They sat on the bow for hours, Sandy sending an entire evening's worth of dreams to his flock, Pitch staring in silence. 

When the moon had travelled across the sky in his puttering orbit, Sandy seemed to be satisfied with his work and allowed the dreamsand to fade slowly, drifting apart in the wind. Pitch stood stiffly, feeling as though he had only taken in half the amount of breaths necessary during the night, and he felt light headed. None the less, he straightened himself regally and held his hand out to Sandy, helping him upright. 

"I am assuming that's all you require, am I correct? Let us go then." He asked, his voice cracking slightly. 

Sandy's eyes were half lidded, deep in thought. He felt warm and tired, still musing over the work he had done. He turned to look upwards at Pitch with irritation. He yanked hard on the hem of Pitch's robe, pulling one shoulder down brusquely. Pitch grumbled and tugged it back in place, rolling his eyes and taking his seat again. 

Sandy would not be moved until he was good and ready. He was allowing the rush to fade from his body, enjoying the afterglow of a job well done, and no Nightmare King, compelling and sexy as he might be, was going to drag that little pleasure away. 

Sandy leaned against Pitch suddenly, and to his own immense surprise, Pitch leaned back, breathing in Sandy's smell, like chamomile tea and honey. Impulsively, he wrapped his arms around him, laughing when his fingers just barely met across the Sandman’s generous tummy. “You’re quite an armful...” 

Sandy squirmed around so that he could face Pitch, waving his finger at him, then touching it lightly to his lips, silencing him. 

_Why do you have to ruin everything with that pretty mouth, PitchBlack- can you not keep silent for one moment and just listen? ___

They looked down at the world rushing below. For the creatures of the Golden Age, mankind's time was a buzzing blur. Children aged, the old died. Wars destroyed their masters, cities rose in prominence and fell to obscurity. But nighttime had always been full of their lights and sounds, and that of course, was beautiful. 

\----- 

They returned to the nightmare realm as the sun was beginning to peek over the hills. 

Pitch accompanied Sandy to his chambers, but instead of cuddling up to sleep, Sandy asked for some of the coal spotted parchment Pitch had an obvious excess of, and sat down to write. During his evening’s work, he had made some interesting observations about the dreams of a certain girl, a girl who he could swear lived on the cusp of life and death, and he wanted very much to reach out to her and speak to her in someway later on, when he had more time to explore... 

Pitch watched him for a few moments, looking up at a very old grandfather clock that ticked feebly on the wall. He cleared his throat. He drummed his fingers on the desk. Sandy only raised an eyebrow and continued writing, his deliberate, slow, looping script making spiderleg scratching noises on the paper. 

"It's late." 

Sandy nodded. 

"You need to go to sleep." Pitch admonished. 

Sandy only paused mid word, wrinkling up his nose when he lost train of thought. 

"I'll give you 5 minutes..." 

Sandy huffed and narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, a gag of gold appeared across Pitch's face, effectively muffling him. 

Pitch's eyes opened wide, and he brushed the sand away, spitting out grains angrily. "Put that parchment away and go to bed, and stop being so bristly; you’re tired” Pitch snipped. 

Sandy shot Pitch a grouchy look and set down the quill, trying hard to develop laser vision. 

_Do not trifle with me, O shadowriddled nighthawk; I spin dreams and pace the stretch of sleep’s somnolent shores, I will be tired when I decide to be so, and now is not the time! ___

Sandy blinked, the back of his throat tickling... 

_No! Don’t yawn...Don’t yawn! It will only antagonize him! ___

Too late. Sandy yawned, as cutely as you please, like a puffy pomeranian. 

“A-HA!!!” Pitch pointed and cackled triumphantly, scooping Sandy up in his lanky arms and storming down the hall. Sandy struggled and huffed, reaching for his parchment, then going to putty in Pitch's prickly embrace. No use fighting it, after all, Pitch was a black belt in subterfuge and he might as well just accept it. He could blame his lapse in control on the kid. 

Pitch leaned his cheek against Sandy’s back as he trotted down the dimly lit halls of the nightmare realm. It was happening again. He could feel that concentrated goodness and light humming happily against his chest, smothering his frigid demeanor like caramel on an ice cream sundae, slow, sweet and warm. Of course, it made perfect sense; after all, the Sandman was a Guardian. Since the day he’d accepted MiM’s bond of fealty, he’d been fashioned into a perfect warrior; the radiant potentate of innocent sweet dreams, roughly hewn from the most hardcore raw materials of soft, comforting and cuddly. A hard churning machine of all encompassing compassion and snuggliness. 

Pitch stopped and nudged open the door to his own quarters with a foot. He carried Sandy to his huge black iron bed and dropped him into the drift of soft grayish satin, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of the nearly spherical guardian as he settled down into the goose down comforter, finally admitting defeat. Pitch sat at the foot of the bed, and turned to look up at the sky through a small window. The horizon was stained orange with morning light. Sandy saw his pensive look and tilted his head to one side. Not wanting to readjust after he’d taken such pains to arrange himself and the little one into a cozy nest, he sent a tiny golden bee to buzz at Pitch’s ear. Pitch turned and looked at him, silver eyes glowing in the low light. 

“Stay with me here.” He said. 

The words caught the Sandman off guard. carefully, he rolled up right and slid over to Pitch’s side. He took Pitch’s chin in his hand and forced him to look him in the eyes. There was no malice, no sarcasm. 

“How long have we fought, Sandman? Ages, millenia. I’m tired of it.” Pitch dropped his eyes and took Sandy’s hand, the slender fingers threading through and closing over Sandy’s own. 

“I cannot deny what I am. I am fear. I am ancient and animal and I am alone. I would have never wanted to share my realm with anyone. Maybe it’s because you believe in me.” He raised Sandy’s hand to his mouth and kissed each finger, his lips violet against the blush of rose at the tips. 

“Stay with me here and I will build you a castle on the surface, you can have gardens and fountains and all the windows you want. Maybe I will learn to love those dreams you spin so easily...” 

Pitch’s lips left cold spots on Sandy’s wrist as he kissed his way up the sandman’s pale arm. His voice dropped low, almost a purr, ”...Or maybe I will teach you to be greedy for the taste of nightmares....” 

Sandy’s mind was chaos; here was Pitch: a panther, a predator, and himself: a bon-bon or a wobbly desert of some kind. He knew that Pitch found him cuddly, and it had taken him long enough just to accept THAT, but there was no way that it stretched beyond a simple admiration of his fluffyness. Surely the attraction Sandy had been repressing was not reciprocal...Pitch seemed to think otherwise, as while the sandman was mentally denying his luck, the boogeyman was slowly undoing the tiny buttons left on the side of Sandy’s robe, peeling it down around his waist, using the back of his hand to trace down Sandy’s plentiful curves. Pitch’s eyes narrowed mischievously, and he lifted Sandy clean out of his robes, setting him on his lap. Sandy jumped. He had not realized that Pitch himself was now completely free of any fettering robes, the pattern of shadow from the window pane his only vestment. Sandy drunk in the sight like a lush. Pitch was long and sinewy and despite his gauntness, he felt solid, like tempered steel. A stark contrast to the softly glowing, be-freckled golden peach who sat astride him. 

Pitch licked his lips and traced little circles on the inside of Sandy’s thigh. His tone was light, bemused. 

“I’ve seen a lot of expressions on your face, Sandman. But never this. No one has ever actually...touched you...have they?” 

Sandy swallowed hard. No, of course not. Any kind of contact he’d ever had was with children, and to them, he was a protector, a guiding hand, a comfort. To the other guardians, he was a friend, a confidant, a co-pilot. There was no room for any other form of interaction. 

Pitch smiled. “I’m surprised, actually. I’ll have to be honest...I have watched you and learned to appreciate what I once loathed about you. Something so clean and earnest....You’re soft and pinchable yes...” 

He drew a finger slowly down from Sandy chin through the cleft in his chest, to just below his navel. 

“- but you’re strong. Just under your skin there is power beyond measure. There is a kindness that could be mistaken for weakness there, a vulnerability that is not from a lack of strength but because of it. It’s delicious. I want to taste every inch and find out what flavor you are. ” 

Suddenly, Pitch took Sandy's face in one hand and moved in close, taking his small mouth in like a fruit, tongue darting quickly between the Sandman's surprised and parted lips. Just as he expected, Sandy was custard sweet and warm as a sun melted chocolate. He had never imagined himself a glutton, but he could have consumed the Sandman entirely and still hungered for more. Sandy trembled against the rush of desire, leaning away and stiffening at first, then curling his hands behind Pitch's shoulders, breathing in the smell of anise and mint. The inside of Pitch's mouth was cold; as though he had been sucking on ice. The exquisite feeling made Sandy thirsty, and he began to drink him in with urgency, surprising the Nightmare King with his desperation. 

Pitch pulled away, breathing hard, but his maddening hands continued their unabashed exploration of the Sandman’s plump figure, resting on his hips, curling into a rapacious grasp, pulling him close. 

“Don’t confuse my hesitancy with reluctance. I have to be gentle with you now, sweetness, but give it a few months and you won’t be so lucky.” Pitch growled. He leaned forward to the Sandman’s russet and gold body, teeth showing in the low light. 

\----- 

The dream bringers played for the first time. There was a good deal of red faced fumbling and some apologies from the Sandman, but never any mocking from Pitch, only his hands, cool, smooth and firm, and his lips, electric. With Sandy full moon round and big as a cloud, Pitch was gentle, encouraging and playful, a good teacher for a fast learning pupil. They ended up laughing far more than Sandy would have thought proper for new lovers in the grips of passion, discovering some very interesting things about the Sandman’s body that, to his delight, made Pitch lose control. He could use that sand to change the texture of his skin, tickle down coyly into places he simply was not acrobatic enough to reach on the Nightmare King. Although not a word was spoken, there was enough golden sand in Pitch’s dark hair to see that Sandy had no problems communicating, and the guardian’s skin was peppered with black. Together they thought up games that would coax out sighs and growls and mad, blushing grins, with only touch as a key to the map of their bodies. 

Pitch knew a great deal more about things that had never crossed Sandy’s mind, concerning slippery oils and clever tricks with the tongue and where to put his hand and when to take that hand away and when to guide and when to follow and sweetest of all, when to let go and allow the two of them to spiral together like embers on a rising air current, light and dark crescendoing together like an exploding galaxy. Together they were a desert under a night sky, a precious relic on a bed of velvet, fireworks at midnight, all things bright and dark, sweet and strong. They played until they were exhausted, sated and happy. 

Sandy lay across the firm stone grey of Pitch’s chest, the blush across his cheeks and nose practically blazing, his breath quick and shallow, his expression that of a mountain climber who’s just seen the breathtaking top of Mt. Kilimanjaro... 

_And just got rogered by the boogeyman while he was up there. You know. No big deal. ___

Pitch smiled at him, his own face violet and perspiring, brushing a bit of black sand off of Sandy's round cheek. “You’ve got a bit of nightmare there on your face, dear.” 

\----- 

When he awoke, Pitch lay curled protectively around Sandy, one arm draped languidly across his chest. Sandy blinked and sneezed, sprinkling golden sand on Pitch’s arm. He nuzzled back down, kicking and stretching in a vain attempt to bend his bony sleeping companion into a more comfortable position, but Pitch only grunted in his sleep and burrowed his nose into Sandy's hair in direct contradiction to the little guardian's wishes. Sandy rolled his eyes, but reached a little hand up to stroke the hollow grey apple of Pitch's cheek. Although it was hours away, he didn't want the night to come. At the very least, both guardian and nightmare king were nocturnal, and they generally had an unspoken agreement about weekend mornings; they were meant for sleeping in. 

However, despite all this, Sandy's duty to the spriteling called. He was hungry and thirsty. He decided to go for just a little nibble and come right back to bed. Wriggling backwards, he untangled himself from Pitch’s embrace and struggled into his robe. It was definitely too small. He was going to have to ask Pitch to loan him one, although he doubted that the Nightmare king had anything in X-chub. He winced, feeling sore, and blushed madly. Pitch had been gentle alright, but that didn’t mean that Sandy himself had been. He wondered if Pitch would be cross when he discovered his fit gray body covered in little sandman bites. 

Very slowly and steadily as he could, he walked into the gloom beyond the chamber. It was very dark that morning, even with the light from the lunettes that Pitch had made for him in the rock walls. He patted the sprite, willing her to be a little patient while he found her something to drink, but then looked down at his hand. His palm came away warm and wet, and a little crack, like a rift in the dry earth's crust, was running across his ribs from his chest to his stomach. It was so out of place that he wasn't even sure what he was looking at. 

_Strange... ___

He stopped to inspect it, when suddenly, he felt as though an entire universe had pushed itself into his mind, and was now trying to split his body apart. 

He collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - From 'Outside the Dog Museum' by Jonathan Carroll


	9. Little Universe and the end of the Stars

Chapter 9 - Little Universe and the end of the Stars

Sandman and Pitch were standing opposite each other in a field of swaying green grass. It was bright and sunny out, so bright that the light seared Pitch’s eyes, burning his skin. He noticed with panic that no shadows were pooling at their feet. He gasped and helds his hands out to Sandy, but the little guardian only stared at him, face grim. Pitch crawled towards him, trying hard to see in the flood of white hot light. He felt blindly until he clenched around the small hands of the Sandman. “Please help me” he gasped, feeling his strength bubbling away like dirty water down a drain. 

“No, I don’t think so” said a voice, high, reedy and thin, much like his own voice, if he were mocking someone. 

The hand Pitch held was slack as though it had no structure, no bones. Pitch did not like the feel of it, but he tightened his grip, the limb squishing like jelly. “Sandy, stop, what are you doing?” Pitch asked, voice raising in panic. He tugged on Sandy’s limp little hand, and pulled the skin off in one great sheet, like a gruesome flesh glove. Runnels of tissue and muscle stretched away like melted cheese. Pitch made a strangled cry and stumbled back, dropping the chunk of flesh. “No, oh gods I am so sorry, I’m so sorry” He stuttered, trying to see through the haze of red, eyes literally burning. 

“The rest of me will go too.” Said the Sandman, still using the mocking voice, “...And you’re to blame.” 

\----- 

Pitch screamed. A Nightmare! The first in years, but, he did not have nightmares. He was their king afterall. 

He only had premonitions. 

He groped around the tussled bed for Sandy, but felt only the empty expanse of satin. Pitch’s eyes widened and in seconds he jumped out of the bed, slipping and falling in something slick and warm...liquid gold...blood. 

He found Sandy curled up on the floor of the foyer, shaking uncontrollably. Grabbing up the his tiny mate, he turned him over to find the exact vision from his nightmare. Cracks crisscrossed all over the Sandman’s body as though he was a broken vase, each one bleeding profusely. Pitch swallowed back a scream. How odd that he had sent such visions to others for centuries, but here in his lap his heart lurched and his mouth dried... Sandy coughed, molten gold speckling his chin, and grabbed for Pitch’s hand, placing it across his stomach. 

_The dreamling. ___

“Now? I don’t even know what to do!” Pitch’s voice was shrill, breaking. 

The idea had passed both their minds before of course, but neither had made any attempt to even rationalize it in the idyllic months leading up to the lurid scene at hand. The brood was alive, and it would have to be released somehow. The Sandman was no human female. There would be no traditional ‘birth’. Whatever this was, it was going to tear him apart to come into being. Cold logic muscled its way back into Pitch’s brain and he moved to action. He hissed and caressed Sandy’s face. “Nothing is going to harm you, Sandman. Don’t be afraid. Not now, not ever.” He growled, holding him close. Sandy made a small, strained attempt at a smile. Funny to hear such words coming from the King of Nightmares...despite Pitch’s confidence, his heart was a bird, flapping its wings in fear. 

Pitch roared for his minions, and 3 nightmares emerged at his side, stamping nervously at the smell of the blood. They squealed shrilly and shied away, but Pitch grabbed one and slung himself over her back. Sandy convulsed, blood spurting from his open mouth like a bizarre Midas statue. As the cracks were deepening across his face, Pitch clutched to him even more tightly, as if he could keep the rifts from widening if he held him together with all his might. Digging his heels into the nightmare’s side, the black horse dropped into shadows, still rearing and stomping, her eyes rolling wildly. Pitch’s face was that of a madman, grief only a stone’s throw away. 

Sandy’s body was warm and soft against him, he could see the two of them as they had been only hours ago lying in a happy, exhausted tangle, arms wrapped loosely around to meet behind each other’s backs, precious metal for eyes and sunlight and shade for skin, nothing between them except body heat and Sandy's round belly. 

Pitch choked back a sob. He would not lose his sweet dream. 

“There is only one place for us to go. We must take you to the guardians. I'll take you to the warren...They'll know what to do, they'll fix you (my love).” 

Sandy panicked. If Pitch set foot in the warren, there would be hell to pay. Someone would die, Pitch, himself, the dreamling. It was only a matter of who, at that point. He gurgled, frothy gold dribbling his chin, and sunk his fingers into Pitch’s wrist, causing the bones to shift and crack uncomfortably. Pitch’s eyes flew wide. “Don’t even think of fighting back right now. You’re mad. I don’t care what they do to me, you need their help!” 

The nightmare coursed forward, head low. Just beyond the shadow Pitch could see a patch of light, the tunnel that led to the warren. For the first time in his life, he welcomed the splash of Spring that would follow. So close now. 

Sandy shuddered, the pain reared against his heart, twisting and pulling inside like some kind of wild beast. He looked up and saw Pitch’s face in soft focus, grim, grey, teeth showing in a drawn dark mouth. Time felt as though it was slowing, he could reach up, run his hand across Pitch’s jawbone, the straining tendon in his neck, touch his eyelids as he blinked. Sandy smiled, little cracks of gold at the corners of his mouth. 

_So beautiful. You’re my song. Never stop playing. ___

Pitch heard just the softest of sighs, and he looked down just in time to catch it as it happened. 

Sandy’s eyes opened wide in shock, his lips parted just barely, as if he was about to speak. He took a fistful of the hem of Pitch's robe, then he simply disappeared, like a soap bubble popping, as if the outline of his being burst and he fell out of the proper plane of existence. The suddenness was surreal; almost comical, except that the front of Pitch’s coat was now drenched with the guardian’s gorgeous golden blood and a powdering of dreamsand. He looked down. his hands were not empty. 

Curled up tightly against his chest was a girl. Although she was young, she was clearly not an infant. Her hair was long and thick, a beautiful heather blonde. She was slick with gold, but he could tell her skin was a soft dove grey, almost phosphorescent. she stirred and turned her cherubic face up to him, fair colored lashes framing a pair of eyes that he recognized as his own; metallic filigree on the hilt of a blade; silver. The girl was neither guardian nor nightmare. She was not a Golden Age child. She was not a fearling princess as he’d hoped or a normal baby, as he’d feared. She was something mixed between them all. 

For a moment, he could not think, could not breathe. The girl was incredible. Perfectly formed hands, small and delicate, a willowy body, a face to melt the hearts of seraphims. The best of both her parents, really. Not a trace of the sloping brow and awful hawk-like nose or overly round face and stubby legs...There was no way that this sublime creature could have come from his ugly heart and slept curled up inside of such a stout little vessel. The notion brought Sandy’s demise crashing back into Pitch like a freight train and a hoarse moan squeezed from his throat. He slid off the back of the nightmare, falling to his knees. He held the girl close, wrapping his robe around her little body, rocking slowly. His mind was buzzing with whispers, as suddenly thousands of questions jostled and pushed to the surface. Here was the price of his desire. She had been born from the body of a dream, forged from a nightmare. What would happen when word of the strange child reached the guardians? She was the death of the Sandman, the end of dreams, and no matter how good, how kind, how just, there was no way that they would allow that kind of monster to walk in their midst. Surely they would come for her, try to kill him and take her away. Rage bubbled up in Pitch’s stomach. Of course he could not allow this to happen. They would run forever, chase shadows and hide under beds and in closets. Whatever it took to keep her from their clutches. He would flatten them all under a wall of black so thick it would choke the world before they took his beautiful child. 

Suddenly, a voice was in his head. It was wind chimes and ocean waves, echoes from the deep of space. He realized it as the lilting voice of a star pilot despite having never heard it...Inherited of course from her mother....the Guardian of Dreams. 

"I know you.” She laughed, the voice youthful but precocious. “You’re my dreamer. You made the wish that became me and all the time that my shooting star cradled me close and kept me warm and safe, you talked to me...You held both of us and you sang to us when he slept....You loved us...” 

Pitch felt a hand on his face, inquisitive, playful, full of curiosity. He looked down in surprise, but the infant in his arms was still, as if in a deep, peaceful sleep. Shocked, Pitch responded, but his voice was despondent and empty 

“Yes. That’s who I am. Pitch Black. I loved the both of you. I see that now.” 

The voice responded, delighted, as if savoring the first taste of joy. “My shooting star loved you too, PitchBlack. He loved how you moved and how you smelled and how you looked at him. He loved everything about you even though he knew he shouldn’t. I know he did because it nearly burned us both alive.” 

Pitch grew stony. 

“He....he should never have loved me. I tried to catch him a long, long time ago, that star... but I failed. And now he’s gone....” 

The voice turned forlorn, “He was very good to me. I was never meant to be there inside, but even so, he allowed me to stay.” 

Pitch brushed a golden curl away from the sleeping child’s face, tenderly. “I still don’t understand how this happened. We thought you were meant to be my little girl who I lost long ago, or a nightmare princess...” 

The spirit was quiet for a while. When she spoke again, the voice was pained. “I’m sorry, PitchBlack. No wish in the world can bring back one who has passed beyond life, no matter how hard you try. I think that is why I am here now. You wanted something to fill that hole so badly. As for a nightmare princess, you made the wish on a shooting star...They cannot grant a wish that will be used to harm anyone. I could never be a thing of pure fear, even if I tried...” 

“My shooting star...So he is...Dead?” 

“It’s the nature of the magic - he cannot exist in this world while I am here. I used every last ounce of his strength just to be brought into life.” 

Pitch was silent. He was shaking. He curled around the infant, rocking her, holding her...The Sandman’s final gift. 

“...You don’t have to let him go, PitchBlack. I can bring him back to you” 

“You said you couldn’t....” 

“I cannot bring back the dead, no, but I can give him back his power. All of it” 

“I don’t understand...but...I have a feeling. You’ll disappear.” 

She smiled in her sleep, her expression so much like that of the Guardian of Dreams, infinitely patient, kind, and gentle. 

“Just say the words, and tell me what it is you wish for...” 

“No.” 

“I’m your wish, PitchBlack...I know the secrets in your heart. Try as you might, you cannot hide them from me. You need him." 

The smell of chamomile tea and honey, eyes like embers, hands quick and clever to spin gold into stories...Someone small, soft and fierce...The radiance of belief that poured from a furnace heart so hot it could melt the ice at the ends of the universe and so bright it cast shadows as strong as iron... 

The girl smiled. 

\----- 

What would the night sky be without the stars? Or the ocean without thousands of pinpoints of light on the surface? What would the world be with no dreams, ships set adrift with no beacon, aimless. 

What would shadow be without light? 

Nothing, of course. 

\----- 

When Sandy looked down at his hands, he found them wrapped around the controls of his shooting star ship. Outside in the vastness of space, constellations glittered in the sky like delicate embroidery in a dark silk robe. Jaunty music was blaring over the sound of the comet’s engines. His heart brimmed with joy, for nothing in the world could ever replace the thrill of racing the planets as he piloted around the galaxy, bursting through the rings around the ice giants and skimming over the great mirrored oceans of the water worlds. 

He looked over at the passenger’s seat, and there was a girl in a pilot’s hat and goggles. She was barely 7 or 8 years old, and she was amazing. Smart as the crack of a whip and such an artist. This year she was the star of the academy, and she would be taking her first lessons to learn piloting. His heart swelled with pride when she turned to him and smiled her wide impish grin. The cockpit was beginning to get cramped now that she was growing so much taller, her coltish knees nearly to her ears, but still she insisted on the outings, and she now scooted closer and took hold of his elbow, resting her head on it. She poked her tongue out between the gap in her teeth and brushed a wisp of her chaotic blonde hair away from her forehead. “You must forgive him someday.” He blinked. What in the heavens did that mean? As he turned to ask her, something dark, solid and frightening hurled out of the black of space straight toward the ship, too fast and huge for any evasive maneuver. He didn’t see much of it before it tore through his shooting star and shattered them both, but what he saw were eyes just like his daughter’s. They were silver, and they were beautiful. 

\----- 

Sandy’s body convulsed, and he drew in a ragged, desperate breath. Sharp, twisting pain shimmied up and down his spine, shooting off shards of hot white agony as it travelled. His eyes snapped open and instantly his hands flew to his stomach, to the swell of his little one safe inside. She was not there. He struggled and sat upright, but cool soft hands were holding him back. Their owner was saying something to him. He registered it as being platitudes, begging him to stop thrashing so that he would not re-open the fresh wounds he was also ignoring. The eyes from his dream were still bearing down at him, hurtling like meteors from space...A warning. 

_Where is she?! what have you done with her?! ___

Sandy rounded on Pitch, blood running down into his eyes and blurring his vision. Pitch recoiled from the backlash, his face was a strange grey slate, his jaws worked as if he was only barely controlling an outpouring of emotion. He held his hands out to Sandy again, pleading. 

“Please. Stop. I have to talk to you about this...She wasn’t anything like what we thought she would be...” Pitch’s voice broke “She was so beautiful, Sand....A little of you and a little of me...but...She wasn’t meant to be here...” His voice was too thick to leave his throat. 

For a second, a trickle of warmth threatened to ignite, but Sandy quashed it back, unable to release the image of fire and pain as the dream replayed in his mind. He shook his head, not wanting to hear Pitch’s explanation. His expression turned to suspicion, resentment. He conjured up an image of an ugly twisted monster with his dreamsand. It was spindly and amorphous with a gaping mouth filled with teeth, and it wore a crown like barbed wire. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Pitch growled, venom creeping into his tone. “I didn’t turn her into a fearling princess! What do I need that for now?! Stop it and calm down before you hurt yourself!” Anger was beginning to stir and struggle under it restraints. 

Sandy did not want to calm down. Again he imagined up a tableau, the nightmare king stealing a squirming bundle out of the hands of an unconscious sandman. The boogeyman locked the child in a cage, both disappearing before the tiny sandman figure awoke, trembling with anguish. 

Pitch ground his teeth, curling his hands into fists, as if ready to fight. 

“NO. I HAVEN’T TAKEN HER! I’m trying to explain to you that she simply could not survive while you are in our world! She gave me a choice and I made it! I’ve told you already and if you can’t get it through your thick skull then it’s no problem to me!” 

_Could not survive...but then that means... ___

The Sandman staggered, his whole being sagging as if deflated. His hands flew to his face and clawed into his cheeks, eyes glassy and wide. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, too rapidly, and Pitch was sure he was going to collapse. He threw his arms out and went to his tiny starpilot, wanting to wrap him up in shadow and curl around him for the rest of his gods damned days... 

The utter hate in Sandy’s eyes was like staring into a dying sun. He turned on Pitch and shoved back hard. His strength, barely at low tide for all those long months, surged back like a dam breaking. He flicked out his wrists, and there were his trusty whips. Another slight gesture, and his cloud was back, swirling like an angry nest of hornets, bolstering him up to an intimidating height above the Nightmare King. 

Pitch trembled. “Stop it,” he snarled. “She’s gone. It was nothing that you or I could have ever understood...It wasn’t a child, it wasn’t a nightmarespawn and it wasn’t going to end with us pretending we were a cute little happy family.” 

The way he said it sounded like a swear. 

“It was a mistake that was made because neither of us could help it.” 

Sandy was incoherent with rage. The whip sizzled through the air and caught Pitch around the neck, hauling him over as he struggled and fought. Reaching up high, the Sandman formed a gleaming golden harpoon of his own and angled it towards Pitch’s upturned face. 

_A mistake. A mistake. Trusting you was the mistake. ___

Pitch looked him in the eye, gaze already distant, lost in a sea of grief. 

“That wish was mine. From the moment she filled you up she was mine. You’ll never know what it’s like to lose someone because you guardians always win! She was mine and I could have anything I wanted from her and I wanted you back!” 

Sandy’s face turned cloudy. He staggered backwards. 

“I wanted you to stay with me. Forever” 

Sandy could have screamed until he was hoarse. He let the whips and the harpoon simply fall away, and dropped Pitch to the ground. He did nothing to wipe away the angry hot tears spilling down his cheeks. 

_You had no right. She was not something to barter with._

He reached around the back of his neck and fumbled for the clasp of his necklace. Viciously he gave up when his clumsy fingers could not perform the job fast enough. Seizing the black cord in his fist he tore it from his neck and threw the lead shard at Pitch. 

"Don't do this." Pitch choked. 

Sandy's pictures were half formed, ugly with anger. Betrayal, cowardice, cruelty, hurt. How stupid he had been to believe in this monster, to think he had become different...What kind of desperate, deranged need had he imagined that Pitch Black, the Boogeyman, the Nightmare King, could fulfill for the Guardian of Dreams... 

Light could not live without Darkness, but they would never co-exist. 

Pitch watched the scene as if he was trapped behind his own eyes. What could he say? how could he stop this from happening? For months he had watched this little shooting star as he filled and changed from a tangle of hot sparks to a mellow ember who happily rested in his dark hearth, heavy with warmth and purpose. He’d felt the kick and tremble of a wish he would not have dared to ever make out loud, and now it was picking out shreds of his heart and devouring it. His wish had come and gone, a wish for companionship, closeness, closure to a wound that had festered for so long...but the one who granted that wish was staring back at him with a daggers edge of disgust, burning out the simple stitches that held their love together. Pitch stared. Before he would be devoured, he would fight. He had no choice. His eyes softened for one last time. “Oh, my sweet dream. How I’ll miss you”. Then he did what always did, as he’d done for thousands of years. He turned to stone and lashed out with fear and vitriol, a song of violence. 

Pitch Black straightened, dark as coal, tall as a blackened monument. His lips curled back over his teeth, his voice a silky pelt hiding the monster beneath. “The agreement is no longer mutually beneficial. How silly of me. Be prepared for the deluge. Fresh nightmares begin tonight. I hope you’re well enough to protect your children, little man.” He hissed. Raising his hand high above the Sandman, he flourished it backwards, his black sand scythe elongating and whistling in the dark, shadows spilling and tumbling around him in a roiling mass of slithering tendrils. 

The nightmare realm vanished, and Sandy found himself in the ashen woods,bleeding, alone, Pitch’s final words settling onto his brain like cobwebs. He knew that until the end of his days he would be haunted by shadow. Black in the wings of crows and in the shapes of trees against the fading light would cause his heart to stammer. There would never be any compromise in the war of the darkness against the light. They would fight each other until the day that one fell at the other’s hands, but he would always wonder if the wish that had brought them into a tenuous, trembling embrace had not only been Pitch's; maybe it had been his as well. 

\----- 

_I went back to the warren, although I did not want to. The first thing I saw was light, sun, and soft green shade. After months of darkness, it hurt my eyes, but it hurt my heart even more. How stupid, how selfish, foolish and droll, to turn my back on the only family I’ve ever had._

__

Bunny rushed out of the burrow, ready for a fight and when he saw me I was sure he was going to cast me aside, but he didn’t. He only carried me inside and bandaged what he could. We said nothing, we did not look at each other, but his paws were always steady and firm. 

__

__

I’m not sure when the others arrived, but arrive they did. I never remember how strong North is until he is there in front of me, squeezing me in a bearhug tight enough for the both of us, accepting an apology I would have to dream of for months in order to find sufficient. Tooth and Jack cried. I know they did because their tears could have drowned me. They know. They know most of all what loss feels like and they shouldered all of that loss for me. They held me tight and crowded me with questions and never stopped their fierce love. They asked me over and over to tell them, please, what happened. They swore up and down they did not care who had sired the child, that their love was no less, but where was she? And why was I broken and bleeding and why was it that I did not show them a single word. 

__

__

For my part I felt nothing. Physical pain, of course...More physical pain then I thought ever possible, but nothing more. 

__

__

There is a hard, black diamond in my heart, and I will never surrender it, because it is the only way I can remember who I am, and what I have loved...And the only way I can look into the pool of the moon and live with what I have done. __

__


	10. Epilogue - Golden Age

Epilogue - Golden Age

The sky was just turning pink, the sun’s rays starting to wash the canvas with the new day. Winter had come to Burgess again, and that cold sharp morning the townspeople would soon awake to a glorious glittering landscape. A pain to the long suffering adults who had to commute in the newly fallen snow, but a joy to the children who would realize that school was so very cancelled! 

For now, the Guardian of Fun was able to survey his work and step back for a moment. As he had worked, he had watched tendrils of gold curl around corners of houses and skip off of roof tops, and he decided he was going to follow the last one as it spiraled lazily down from above...It was Wednesday afterall, time for a visit. 

Jack Frost found himself wandering the halls of the dreamship, enthralled by the sight of the grains of sand that had caught and mixed with tiny drops of water, freezing into golden crystals that pattered like sleet on the deck. The ship resembled a golden pastry, dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon. He went immediately to the prow of the ship, where a small figure watched the world below. 

The Sandman heard Jack’s whispering footfall, and turned to meet the young guardian. 

“Hey there, Sandman...Got you something.” 

Jack smiled and pulled a little styrofoam container out from behind his back. Sandy’s face lit up with expectation, and he clapped his hands gleefully as he drifted over. Jack popped the tab on the container to reveal one massive slice of cheesecake, drizzled with chocolate. There was a little freezerburn on the whipped cream, but Sandy was not about to be picky. 

“Breakfast of champions!” Jack smiled and fished two plastic forks out of his pocket. They sat on the prow of the ship and watched as the sun rose, nibbling the almost-too-sweet dessert slowly. 

Jack set his fork down in the container and ran a hand through his pale, messy hair. “You know what I was thinking....We should have a party up here sometime, Sandy. I kind of want to see Bunny’s face when he realizes that we’re about a bazillion miles up...” 

Sandy tilted his head to one side. A party? that might be nice...He had a lot of records to play; he’d never actually gotten a chance to show them off and they were some of his prize possessions... 

Sandy grinned enthusiastically, giving a thumbs up. He then frowned, and sent him an image of a broom and dustpan. 

“Yeah yeah yeah I’ll help you clean up I know the drill. It’s fine. I don’t mind some house work if it means we get to see North attempting to bust a move. He thinks he can dance, Sandy. He thinks he can dance.” 

They laughed, perhaps a little unkindly, but it was ok; they loved North no less. Jack stretched and tapped his staff on the hull of the ship, watching the way the frost swirled and bloomed like the tendrils of a fern. “Tooth says hello, by the way. She’s getting busy again...Is there like, a season when kids lose more teeth? Whatever. She also says to tell you she saw it over the Russia the other day, she was chatting with that goofy good luck and love guy with the bad aim, and the Baku just wandered by. He is back to his old self finally, fat and frisky.” 

Sandy’s face lit up. He was genuinely happy to see the progress the monstrous Baku had made. Its help had been indispensable when the nightmares returned, and Sandy was sure that steady supply of food and light exercise had helped it heal all the more quickly. He’d have to make sure to track it down and see it with his own eyes soon. 

They sat in silence for a while, the Guardian of Dreams and the Guardian of Mirth. Jack tentatively set his hand on Sandy’s shoulder. Gently, so as not to hurt the dreamspinner’s fading bruises and still healing wounds, gently so as not to disturb that one moment of perfect peace. 

“I could get used to this, you know...the ‘having you guys around more often’ thing” Jack said softly. 

Sandy smiled. He could get used to it too. 

\----- 

High above the world, where the curve of the atmosphere met the dark of space, a girl floated serenely. She had a smile on her rosebud lips, but her silvery eyes were distant. From somewhere beyond the milkyway, her shooting star was speeding towards the Earth, and she knew she’d have to be quick to catch it. Starpilots were proud of their punctuality, but she could not resist one last look. 

Somewhere, down below darkness waited under a bed, and the light sent dreams to sleeping humans. They had fought as they always would, but she knew something they didn’t; eventually, they’d learn that it wasn’t a war. It was a long road to a compromise. Silly grown ups, always worried about something or other. She laughed. 

Closing her eyes, she conjured up two figures in a handful of stardust, (a little trick she’d picked up) one small and round, one tall and thin. They embraced, and as they did so, the stardust shimmered and glowed brightly, then exploded into a shower of soft white light, picked up by a solar wind, borne down, down, down to the Earth's surface, where it mingled in the shifting golden sands of a desert, sleeping under a black velvety sky. 

As the roar of the comet approached, she smiled. 

"I'll meet you both again, someday, when the Golden Age returns...And I will have so many stories for you....We can sit together and talk until the world stops turning and the skies explode with stars." 

\- fin -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3


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